A Pretender Lullaby
by SylverFyre
Summary: Answers to all your questions! Surprise ending!!!! FINISHED! *dancing* Chapter 7 and 8 are up!! Please R/R! Thank you in advance.
1. Chapter One Jarod to the Rescue

Note: The characters of Jarod, Sydney, Miss Parker, etc. belong to TNT and whoever else owns them. This is nothing more than me paying tribute to what was a great show. I'm not trying to make money, etc. You know the drill.

This story is pre-pretender movies, since I didn't like where the movies took the story. It doesn't exactly pick up where season four left off either, so you could say this is just one of "those" stories where it could've happened anytime.

Also I would like to add that the name Trista means "sad" and Caitlyn means "pure beauty" which I thought rather fitting for the characters.

Chapter One

A Pretender Fanfic by Sylver

            The black clothing he usually wore was totally unsuitable for southern heat, he knew, yet he didn't mind, even as sweat trickled between his shoulder blades and beaded across his forehead. In the Centre, he'd only been allowed to wear their generic idea of clothing unless he was doing a pretend. Even then, it hadn't been his choice. Nothing he'd ever done had been his choice.

            Wiping the sweat away with the back of his hand, he continued walking, admiring the inherent beauty around him. He'd been to San Antonio before, long ago, but he was back again. A soft breeze blew across his face, it was warm and full of humidity, yet it caressed his flushed skin and cooled him off.

            Just now, he was hoping to exhaust himself as he hadn't slept in a good forty-eight hours or so. Maybe more. It was hard to tell when your mind was slowly turning to mush, yet refusing to shut off. The rich air and the heat should've knocked him flat on his back, and yet here he was, wide awake.

            The River Walk was a cacophony of endlessly moving bodies, pigeons hoping for bits from the tourists and delightful smells from the many restaurants that lined the way. He headed to his hotel, the River Marriot, tired of trekking around the city, looking, watching ordinary people around him who had no idea about anything other than their own lives.

            Not that he blamed them. He would have given anything to have been one of them. To have that jaded, self-centeredness that revolved around his own life and nothing more. Almost anything, he silently corrected himself, except his pretender skills. No matter that those very skills were the reason he'd never be able to live that normal life, deep down he knew that to just be truly ordinary, one of the masses, would be no fun at all.

            If he was even more honest with himself, he knew that somewhere in his heart, there existed a place that enjoyed the game. True, he held a great deal of pain, and he was tormented with memories of atrocities done to him, of his own inner demons that plagued him, but he'd had very little to enjoy in his life. Someday the Centre would no longer give chase (when hell froze over), and he might miss the game, the taunting, the chase.

            He wouldn't miss the anxiety of wondering if someday they might very well outsmart him and drag him kicking and screaming back to what he lovingly deemed "Purgatory". He snorted at that thought, wondering how his mind could be so blazingly sarcastic with only himself to hear it.

            One of life's little mysteries, he supposed.

            Or Parker was rubbing off on him.

            A grin spread over his face at just the thought of Miss Parker in her tailored, power, too-shot, corporate suits, sexy bare legs, and that caustic snarl curling her lips. Not to mention her precious gun in one hand and her cell phone in the other. If only she knew how adorable a picture she made, her gun drawn and her mouth cursing his very existence as she ran him down, stilettos sounding a staccato beat that made him want to stop and plant a huge kiss on those perfectly lined and colored lips of hers.

            Bringing his wayward thoughts to heel, Jarod rubbed his face, wondering if perhaps sleep depravation was causing him to fantasize about his own personal Artemis, Goddess of the Hunt, complete with shard-edged tongue capable of flaying him to the bone.

            Definitely sleep depravation.

            With that thought firmly implanted in his head, he stifled a yawn and entered the Marriot, stumbled into the lobby only to have his attention drawn away from the thought of twelve straight hours of sleep in his bed (fat chance that), by a hysterical female being restrained by hotel security.

            All thoughts of sleep fled from Jarod as his chivalry reared its ugly head. Damn, he'd been born in the wrong century, he thought irritably; he should have been born in the middle ages as a knight of the realm, rescuing damsels on his noble steed.

            What is wrong with you, he chastised himself silently, knowing that if he continued to talk to himself in his head, he'd best go check himself into a mental institution. But it was nothing that a good night's sleep couldn't have cured.

            His long legged stride ate the ground between him and the young woman who was crying hysterically, her words finally pierced the dense fog around his brain.

            "…My baby! You've got my baby!" she was accusing someone, though Jarod couldn't see who.

            The two security guards were having the very devil of a time restraining the distraught girl, who was wild-eyed with fear and sorrow. Her face was flushed, her hair disheveled haphazardly about her rounded face. She wore a baggy gray shirt and tattered, faded blue jeans.

            She broke one arm free and lunged over to where Jarod, who was almost right behind the struggling trio, saw a woman with a stroller and a squalling baby inside of it. She was shielding her baby from view, eyeing the girl before her distastefully.

            Something about the woman, who was wearing a designer blouse and floral print skirt with cute little pumps to match, that was eerily familiar to Jarod.

            He grabbed the younger girl's arm, who in turn whirled and tried to strike him, but Jarod had expected as much. He dodged the blow easily and pulled the hysterical body into the safety of his arms.

            She struggled against him, the security guards tried to pry the girl loose and all the while Jarod just whispered nonsensical things into her ear to comfort her.

            He gave the security guards a piercing look, while the concierge came over to demand what was going on.

            By now, the girl in his arms had stopped struggling and was only sobbing and trembling violently.

            "Someone please explain to me what all the commotion is about?" the concierge demanded, his name tag identified him as Isaiah Garza.

            One of the security guards, a black man with a shaved head explained that the young girl had burst into the hotel's lobby and accused one of their guests of kidnapping her child.

            The concierge gave the girl in Jarod's arm a shrewd look, then merely glanced over at the female guest, standing there trying to comfort the child she had picked up.

            "I have to ask, is that your child, ma'am?" Mr. Garza inquired politely of the lady.

            She raised an arched eyebrow, her blond hair swishing a bit in her indignation, "Of course it is. This is my son, Noah Gardner, and I'm his mother, Catherine Gardner."

            Jarod frowned at that name.

            The concierge only nodded, then turned a disdainful look to the young girl, "Miss, can you calmly explain to me why you thought Mrs. Gardner has taken you child?"

            A shudder wracked the girl's body, but she pushed away from Jarod and stood firmly before the whole world it seemed, her stance defiant and her shoulders rigid.

            "Someone tripped me and pulled the stroller containing my _daughter from my grasp. I chased them until I saw them come into this hotel. I lost track of them, but I saw _her_," she indicated by pointing an accusing finger at Catherine Gardner, "coming out of the bathroom with my baby in my stroller!"_

            "Why that's ridiculous," Catherine replied, her face indignant, "My child is a boy, which is easily proved, not to mention that I have his birth certificate and social security card with me to prove I am his mother."

            Mr. Garza held up both his hands, noticing that a rather large crowd had gathered to gawk at the spectacle the two women made. He sighed in frustration, but then smeared a false smile on his face at everyone, "Ladies, if you will come back to my office so that we can conclude this matter. _In private_, if you please."

            Everyone nodded, the guards broke up the crowd and Jarod trailed behind the younger girl as she followed the concierge and Catherine Gardner into his office.

            Once the two ladies were inside and the concierge had closed the door, Jarod stood there waiting patiently for whatever was to happen. Something just wasn't right about this whole situation.

            Several minutes later, the door opened and a very pale and trembling young woman walked out in front of a smug Catherine Gardner and stern Mr. Garza.

            She turned, casting one last pleading look at the concierge, "Someone has my daughter, Mr. Garza, someone in this hotel. Why won't you help me find my child?"

            Isaiah Garza cast a cold look over the young woman's attire, from her frizzled brown hair, pale, drawn features, tattered clothing and scuffed sneakers, back to the woman who carried her son, wearing her self-righteousness like a fur coat about herself.

            "I will not harass my guests any further today. If you would like to file a police report, you may. I am certain they will be very happy to help you," the concierge informed her.

            Everything about the young girl crumpled, her face, her shoulders, even the defiant gleam in her dark brown eyes. Tears poured down her face as she turned away, leaving Jarod wondering why no one was willing to do everything possible to find the young girl's missing baby.

            He followed her, his longer legs quickly catching up to her. She looked up, gave him a frown and kept walking.

            "I'd like to help you," Jarod offered her quietly as they exited the building onto the crowded, noisy street.

            She stopped dead in her tracks, looked up at him, "Why? So you can laugh at the poor, helpless woman who has no proof her baby even exists?"

            Jarod frowned, "What do you mean?"

            A shudder wracked her body, absolute grief clouded her features, "I mean I didn't give birth in a hospital! I don't have a birth certificate, a social security card or anything else except my word that my baby exists."

            Confusion color Jarod's face, "How have you taken care of a child if you're homeless?" he asked.

            She threw him a scathing look, turned on her heel and began walking away, "I never said I was homeless," she admitted.

            Jarod caught up to her again very quickly, for she was only about five foot five, if even that.

            "Why don't you start from the beginning and explain to me what's going on? I can only help if you tell me everything," Jarod tried again.

            "Who said I need your help?" she growled.

            This was going nowhere, so Jarod grabbed the girl's arm and pulled her around to face him, "Look, I want to help you. I was kidnapped from my parents when I was a child. I am still searching for them to this day. If you let me, I'll help you find your daughter," Jarod told her.

            All the bravado fled from her face, her lip trembled and an unsteady breath escaped her, "I'll never see her again, will I?" she asked.

            Again, as in the hotel lobby, Jarod pulled her against his chest, a feeling of protectiveness surging through him that he had no idea where it came from. It wasn't sexual or even paternal. It was like he couldn't stop himself from wanting to help her. It was stronger than his usual need for absolution from his own imagined sins against humanity. She reminded him of someone, and because of that he knew he would do everything in his power to help her.

            "Shh, we'll find her, I promise. Let's go back to my room and you tell me everything you can."

            She nodded; willing to allow him to take charge over a situation she knew was out of her control. His fingers intertwined with hers as he led her back into the Marriott and up to his room.

            He pushed her into the couch in the sitting room and got her a glass of water; she accepted the water gratefully and at his urging, began relating to him what was going on.

            "First, let's start with yours and your baby's name," Jarod encouraged.

            She gave him a tremulous smile, "My name is Trista Reilly and my daughter's name is Caitlyn."

            "Tell me why you didn't go to a hospital when you gave birth if you're not homeless, Trista. Trust me," he added.

            Nodding, she took a deep breath, her eyes glazing slightly as she was drawn back into the past, back just before she was pregnant.

            "I met this guy named Jeremy, he actually kind of reminds me of you, he had lighter hair than yours, but he had dark, sad eyes. I met him at the gas station I worked at. It was being robbed and he saved me by disarming the robber and calling the police. He disappeared before the cops showed up, but when I was walking to my car after work, he was waiting for me. He asked if he could stay at my place for the night. I agreed because I was grateful to him for what he'd done. It was a real risk, ya know? Almost got shot.

            "He was so sweet, and since I knew he didn't have any place else to go, I told him he could stay with me for awhile. Sometimes I swear he was afraid someone was after him, at night he would prowl my apartment, looking out the windows as if he was expecting someone to be out there. We … became close. One night he came to me and told me that he had to go, that someone was after him and that I was to never tell anyone that he had stayed with me, slept with me or anything or my life would be at risk. He seemed so frightened, so sincere when he begged me to keep it secret, I believed him. He was terrified, I didn't think that kind of terror could be acted or pretended."

            Jarod cringed a little at her word choice, but he nodded for her to go on.

            She gave him a wistful smile, "I guess I should be mad at him for leaving me alone, carrying his child, but I'm not really. I won't pretend that I'm happy about it, but I think he only wanted to protect me and that's why he left. I've never met anyone like him before. He was more genuine than any other guy I've ever known. He was real; he didn't hide behind humor or anger. He told me things about himself, his dreams and his deepest wishes," she stopped suddenly, blushing.

            "What's wrong?" Jarod asked.

            She had long since put the glass of water on the side table next to the couch, so she put her face in both hands and groaned, "I sound like some naïve child. I know I do. Here I am blurting out what I've never told anyone to a perfect stranger. You probably think he was nothing more than one of those jerks that go around sleeping with stupid, innocent girls and then leaves them heartbroken with some lame story about being on the run or whatever. But I swear to you it wasn't like that. He wasn't like that."

            Jarod shook his head, "No, I can understand his reasons for leaving. If what he said was true, and he was on the run, then he did care enough about you to move on so you wouldn't be in danger," Jarod paused, "I am sorry, in all of this I forgot to give you my name. I'm Jarod Taylor," he told her a little sheepishly. He had totally forgotten in everything that had happened.

            Nodding, she mulled over what he'd said before continuing with her narration.

            "I found out I was pregnant a few weeks later. I admit, I was scared, so scared I thought about terminating the pregnancy, but I couldn't go through with it. I kept thinking the child I was carrying was my last link to Jeremy. I knew I'd never see him again, but I would always have his child to remember him by."

            Jarod tilted his head to the side, "So Jeremy has never contacted you since he disappeared?"

            She took a deep breath; "Well …" she drew the word out, "Actually he called me three weeks after I had found out about the baby. By then I knew I could never get rid of it, so when I told him, he freaked. He panicked and wanted to come and get me. He even asked me if I could live life on the run. I wanted to be with him, but whenever I thought about that kind of a life for a baby, I knew I couldn't do it. We agreed that I would never tell anyone who the father was, that I wouldn't go to the hospital to have the baby unless there was something wrong. The plan was to wait a year or two and then register for a social security number and birth certificate. He told me he could never contact me again or he would place the baby in danger."

            Everything clicked into place for Jarod. It reminded him too much of the Centre. He wondered if it was possible that Jeremy was from the Centre as well.

            But, what were the odds?

            "So that's why you don't have any of those things that prove your daughter exists, why you didn't go to the hospital. How long ago was it since you've given birth?"  Jarod wondered.

            "Four months ago," she answered.

            "Do you have any pictures? It'll be easier to track your baby if I have a picture of her. I also need to know the last thing she was wearing and anything you can tell me about the person who kidnapped your child. Any detail you can think of. I don't care how small it is, a smell, or an impression. Where you were when you were tripped. I need to know all of it," Jarod told her.

            A sudden blush suffused Trista's face as she glanced down at her chest then back up at Jarod. She turned away from him suddenly and began muttering.

            Concerned, Jarod walked over to where she sat her back to him, putting a hand on her shoulder he asked her, "Trista, is something wrong?"

            She shook her head, but when she glanced over her shoulder at him, he could tell she was humiliated, "Where's the bathroom?" she asked quietly.

            He pointed, "Over there," past the bedroom door.

            She nodded, and then stood up, her arms crossed over her front, her eyes refusing to make contact with his.

            Suddenly it hit Jarod what was wrong. Her milk had come in.

            "Would you like a new shirt?" he inquired gently as she walked past him on her way to the bathroom.

            Just before the bathroom door slammed shut, he heard a very soft reply, "Yes, thank you."

            He grinned as he rummaged through his clothing, finding a plain black t-shirt. He went to the bathroom door and knocked gently, "I'm going to leave the shirt on the bed and close the door to the bedroom, all right? Come out whenever you're ready," he called through the door.

            There was no reply, but Jarod knew she was embarrassed by a natural occurrence. Concern for her baby's welfare, anxiety and perhaps trying to remember the last moments in which she'd been with her baby probably triggered the let down reflex. He went back into the sitting room to wait for Trista to come out.

            Several minutes later, she emerged, her face still crimson and her eyes falling to Jarod's feet. Jarod knew it was best to just pretend it hadn't happened.

            She sat back down and took a few deep breaths, her thought wandered back to her daughter. Tears stung her eyes as she wondered where her daughter was. Was she scared? Alone? Had they fed her and changed her diaper? Would they sing to her as Trista did whenever Caitlyn was upset?

            Then Jarod was next to her, comforting her, assuring her they would find Caitlyn. His soft crooning noises were so strange coming from a man she hardly knew, she pushed away from him feeling foolish.

            "All right, try and remember what happened when they took Caitlyn," Jarod urged her.

            Her mind wandered back to what seemed like hours ago, when it had really only been less than an hour.

            "I was walking down the street, about a block from this hotel. Caitlyn was sleepy, so I had gotten out a blanket to put over the front of the stroller. As I began walking again, I felt something pull my left foot out from underneath me and then shove me to the right. I felt the stroller being pulled from my grasp and I fell. When I looked up, it looked like a man was walking rapidly away, but I never saw anything other than a loose blue denim shirt, baggy blue jeans and a Spurs baseball cap pulled low, down to the collar of the shirt. I never saw a face or anything else. I ran after them, but they were flying down the sidewalk. I saw them duck into this hotel, just like I told everyone downstairs. When I finally walked through the doors, I didn't see anyone who might have had my daughter. Until that stupid bitch walked out of the bathroom. Jarod, I swear to you that was my stroller. But when we were in the concierge's office, she showed me her baby. It was a boy!" she ended despairingly; reliving the events had caused her to become agitated once again.

            Jarod didn't know what to make of the entire situation. Was this one of those kidnappings where lawyers sold babies on the black market? Was it whoever was pursuing the baby's father involved? Jarod couldn't even begin to guess, there were too many unknown elements. It was going to take ever skill he possessed to re-piece this puzzle together.

            Jarod turned to her, pulling himself out of his thoughts, "Do you have any pictures?" he asked.

            She nodded, "Of course, but they're at my apartment. I was afraid of carrying any pictures of her with me."

            Sighing in utter frustration, Jarod knew this one was not going to be easy. How was he supposed to find a child that technically did not exist?

            "Good, we'll need those pictures in order to prove you're not lying."

            His mind was not working properly at the moment. He couldn't even keep one coherent train of thought. He shook his head, hoping to clear away some of the fuzz that seemed to be overtaking his cranial cavity. 

            He glanced over at Trista and grimaced, she was still lost in the kidnapping. He couldn't function like this.

            "Trista, listen to me, I want you to go home and get some rest. Whoever has your daughter is already gone. Trust me; as soon as you began raising hell in the lobby, they took off. I have to get some rest," Jarod told her, and then yawned, "I haven't slept in over 48 hours and I will be useless to both you and Caitlyn if I don't sleep. You'll be of no use to Caitlyn as well, so I want you to go home, go to sleep and come back in eight hours with pictures and anything else that might be helpful. If you have any pictures of Jeremy that would be great as well."

            She shook her head, no.

            Well it had been a long shot anyway.

            Slowly Trista stood, her gray shirt lay crumpled in her hands, twisted from her nerves.

            "I don't think I can sleep," she whispered.

            Jarod nodded, "Try to, if you can. Contact the police as well. Tell them everything that's happened so far, except about me. Cops don't like civilian interference, but I can promise you I've done this sort of thing before."

            She frowned, "But what do I say when they ask me why I didn't report Caitlyn's kidnapping right away?"

            "Tell them … tell them that you've been trying to find her yourself in the hotel until you got kicked out."

            Trista nodded, she began walking towards the door when she stopped and turned back to look at him, "I don't know how to thank you, Jarod. I know you haven't done anything yet, but …" she left it at that by twirling away and running out of his hotel room.

            Exhausted, Jarod dragged himself over to his bed and fell into his softness. Sleep began to claim him, even as his mind whirled to stay awake and piece together this puzzle. In the end, sleep won out.


	2. Chapter Two Who is Jeremy?

Note: The characters of Jarod, Sydney, Miss Parker, etc. belong to TNT and whoever else owns them. This is nothing more than me paying tribute to what was a great show. I'm not trying to make money, etc. You know the drill.

This story is pre-pretender movies, since I didn't like where the movies took the story. It doesn't exactly pick up where season four left off either, so you could say this is just one of "those" stories where it could've happened anytime after season two.

Also I would like to add that the reference to a woman named "Jillian" is a character from my story, Flypaper Centre. Read that story first before this one chapter because there is a major spoiler in here for that story.

Chapter Two

            As soon as she got into her car, the uncontrollable tears began to flow. She could've swore she'd cried herself out, but here she was again, giving vent to her volatile emotions.

            "Caitlyn, where are you?" she moaned between bone wracking sobs.

            She leaned her forehead against the steering wheel of her maroon '88 Subaru GL. Her mind worked frantically, trying to figure out some way to make everything better, to make her daughter be in the backseat of her car, drooling happily, and trying to take off her little booties to inspect fuzz covered toes.

            Her daughter was her life, her everything. She had no other family; her parents had died when she was ten in an automobile accident. She had been a ward of the state until she had been freed from her prison at 18. Life had held little joy for her until she met Jeremy and then subsequently got herself pregnant. Until then, it had been all about making herself forget the memories of her past. Drugs, alcohol, sex, it hadn't mattered to her as long as it helped her forget for even a moment that she had no one who really cared about her.

            Jeremy had been the first person to get past her defenses since her parents died. He had done it so easily, too. Once he'd risked his life for hers, she knew he wasn't just another punk-ass kid who wanted a piece of ass. She'd been there and done that. Instead, he was a thoughtful guy who took into account her feelings. He made her smile, made her happy with his wit and inherent charm. Yet there was always that underlying sadness to him. She'd noticed it in Jarod, too. Those eyes that were so soulful, so expressively mournful.

            When he'd first walked into the gas station, she'd noticed him only because he was so good looking. Light brown hair and dark, coffee eyes, tall, muscular and so not the type to notice average looking her. He'd given her a charming little grin and begun to browse the shelves for whatever junk food appealed to him.

            She knew she'd fallen head over heels for a guy she could never have. He was as unattainable as the wind, yet she had kept a piece of him in the form on his daughter. Whatever love she craved from another human being, she lavished on her daughter. She never wanted her child to grow up knowing that no body gave a damn, because Trista would always care about her baby girl. The night she'd given birth on her bed, she'd taken one look at her baby's face and knew that until that very moment, her life hadn't been worth squat.

            It was hard being single and pregnant, but a hundred times harder being a single mommy. She'd almost lost it those first couple of months, almost succumbed to the frustration, the sleep deprivation and the post-partum depression. Then she'd take one look at that innocent, trusting face and renew her vows to not give up.

            Getting a hold of herself, Trista sat up, wiped her face on her gray shirt and then threw it in the backseat, where the car seat sat, empty. She gritted her teeth, and got the hell out of there. A little sleep was sounding better all the time.

            Twenty minutes later, she was at her apartment on the northeast side of the county. She hated downtown San Antonio and the only reason she ever went down there was because the free clinic she took Caitlyn to was there. They didn't demand all the paperwork she couldn't provide. An idea came into her head. They would have Caitlyn's medical records and that would be more proof that she had had a baby. She made a note to herself to go and pick up her daughter's medical records as soon as possible. She looked over at the clock on her dashboard just before she got out of her car and saw that it was already 2:30. There was no way she was going back downtown when traffic was about to be at its worst.

            Wearily, she trudged upstairs to her apartment in the complex she lived in. It was dirt cheap; she paid five hundred a month, all utilities included. She reached her door and opened it with a twist of her key and walked into the empty room, trying to remember that crying would do her little good now.

            Her bedroom was to the back of her apartment, before her was the dining area off to her left, her living room to her right and the kitchen was behind the counter that housed the kitchen sink and just above it was a set of cabinets, giving the impression of it being its own distinctive room.

            There was a short hallway that led to the hall closet on the right, her bedroom door on the left and her bathroom at the very end of the hallway. The walls were a glossy white that had obviously been repainted a number of times and the carpets were the standard tan color that camouflaged the stains of living. She opened her bedroom door and walked over to her bed, collapsing into the mattress.

            More tears streaked her pallid cheeks before she finally fell into an exhausted and restless sleep.

            _"…thirty-six hours and he's already demonstrating more talent than any of our others…"_

_            "…Who am I, __Sydney__? … I just want to know who I am…"_

_            "…Where's my mom and dad…"_

_            "…I don't know who I am…"_

The voices echoed in his mind. Dazed, he sat up in bed and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He glanced over at the bed and saw his alarm clock read 8:12. He'd barely gotten six hours of sleep. Figured.

            He eyed the room until he saw his cell phone sitting over on the table against the far wall. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood up, noticing that he did feel much better now that he'd been able to sleep again. Picking up the phone he flipped it open and speed dialed Sydney.

            After a few rings, an accented voice answered.

            "Hello?"

            "Did you ever hear of a boy named Jeremy at the Centre, Sydney?"

            There was a slight pause, "I don't think so, Jarod. Why do you ask?"

            Jarod didn't know what to tell him. He trusted Sydney, yet there was always a shadow of a doubt that made him keep certain details to himself.

            "Can you find out if there was a boy named Jeremy at the Centre?" Jarod persisted.

            Sydney cleared his throat; "I can look into it, but without anymore information except a name I can't promise anything definitive …" he trailed off.

            "He would be in his early twenties, dark eyes, tall, with light brown hair. He'd also be listed as missing from the Centre."

            "What's going on, Jarod?" Sydney asked, his voice conveyed his concern.

            He just didn't know what to say to that, "Nothing, Sydney. Can you get me the information or not?"

            "I'll see what I can do," Sydney promised, then, "You sound tired, Jarod. Edgy. Are you not sleeping again?"

            A humorless chuckle escaped Jarod's lips. After having spent thirty-three years with Sydney, the man could sometimes read him like a book, "Actually, I finally was able to drift off for about six hours. I hadn't slept in 48 hours though."

            "I'm concerned for you. Insomnia is an indication that there's something wrong-˝

            Jarod cut him off stiffly, "Don't Sydney. Don't try to analyze me like this. The reason I can't sleep is because of what you and the Centre did to me for all those years. Simulations, experiments, isolation. After all of that, did you expect me to be a normally functioning human being? I can't sleep because my mind torments me. If I am really such a genius why didn't I know about how the Centre was using my Sims? Why didn't I figure out that I was causing innocent deaths by what my mind created? Why didn't I stop them from killing Jillian?"

            Sydney's voice was edged, "Jarod, I told you I had no idea what the Centre was using your simulations for. Don't you think I would have stopped it if I'd known? Don't you think I would have stopped them from using Jillian if I had known about her as well?"

            Jarod closed his eyes, shutting out the image of a worn Sydney, a man who felt the guilt as sharply as he did about the abuse of his genius, and of others like him.

            "I know. We've been over this before."

            Jarod hung up abruptly, not wishing to dredge up the past anymore than Sydney did. He also didn't want to hurt the man he'd always thought of as a father. He especially didn't want to think about Jillian, a pretender the Centre had used briefly to find him and bring him in. A woman so similar to him it had been eerie.

            He stopped himself from going any further down that path. It was still a raw spot for him, the memories it brought back. Her eyes still haunted him, she was always crying in his dreams, always apologizing for what she'd done to him.

            He threw the phone on his bed roughly, wanting to purge the volatile feelings churning inside of him. He stalked out of the bedroom and into the sitting room; he opened the refrigerator of the mini-bar and grabbed a mini-bottle of something he didn't bother to look at. He opened it and brought it to his lips, but he hesitated.

            Cursing under his breath, he replaced the cap and then put it away again. There was no escape in alcohol, he knew, just a really bad hangover.

            After a much needed shower and a clean outfit, Trista was ready to head back to Jarod's suite with pictures of Caitlyn and a report of what the police had told her. She left her apartment and locked door behind her. In her car, she threw Caitlyn's baby book on the seat next to her and turned the car on.

            It took her just under twenty minutes to get back to the Marriott. She parked in one of the many parking lots, paid for the spot and walked the rest of the way to the hotel. None of the employees were the same from that afternoon so she wasn't accosted on her way up. She headed up to Jarod's room.

            A soft knock sounded and Jarod in nothing but his black jeans and an unbuttoned dark red shirt opened the door. He beckoned her inside and she went without question.

            She handed Jarod the baby book that contained all the pictures she had of Caitlyn and watched as he thumbed through it.

            "She's beautiful, Trista. A perfect baby doll," he whispered in awe of her daughter.

            Glancing over his shoulder, she had to agree, for Caitlyn had always been so beautiful. She had blond hair and dark blue eyes that had yet to change. Her face was chubby and rounded with babyhood, her eyes bright and alert. She smiled toothlessly at the camera.

            "Thank you," Trista managed over the lump in her throat.

            Jarod looked up to see Trista blinking back her tears. He knew it must've been hard seeing her daughter in those pictures and knowing she was out of her reach for now. It broke his heart to see her pain, so he put his hand on her shoulder, looked her dead in the eye, "I promise I will find her, Trista. In fact, I've already searched the hotel's records and found something you might want to see."

            Hope flared in Trista's brown eyes as Jarod lead her over to his laptop. He turned the screen so she could look it over. It was on the hotel's guest list, currently on the names beginning with "G".

            She read the list mentally, Garder, Garner, Garran, Gartelli, Garza. There was nothing unusual about the list, nothing that had caught her eye.

            "What? I don't see anything."

            Jarod looked at her, "Look again. There's no Gardner, no record of anyone named Catherine Gardner staying in this hotel. So unless she was visiting a guest, which is highly unlikely, she had no business being here. Which means she in all likelihood had something to do with Caitlyn's kidnapping."

            "I knew it!" Trista said, "I told you she had my baby's stroller."

            Jarod nodded, "What's more, when I went down into the bathroom to see what she could have been doing in there, I found this," he held up a piece of cloth, but it was more than that, it was the last thing Caitlyn had been wearing before she'd been kidnapped.

            Her chest felt heavy, she couldn't breathe as she look at the little pink and white sundress she'd dressed Caitlyn in only that morning. She reached out reverently and pulled the dress over to her face, inhaling the remnants of her baby's sweet smell.

            "I've done a composite sketch of our mysterious Catherine Gardner," Jarod grabbed the sketchbook off the coffee table to show her the woman's face sneering back at her.

            Shuddering, Trista nodded, "That's great, Jarod. How did you know how to do all this anyway?" she asked, fingering the drawing lightly.

            Shrugging, Jarod grinned, "I told you, I've done this before."

            His answer didn't satisfy Trista however, but she let the matter drop.

            "So where do we go from here?" she wondered.

            "Well, there's three possible ways she could leave San Antonio. Plane, bus or car. My guess is she is not working alone, since she came out of that bathroom with another baby to throw us off. Your daughter was in that bathroom until they could sneak her out of the hotel without your catching them. Where they took her from here, I don't know, but I am certain they aren't going to be staying in San Antonio much longer. It's doubtful they'd know you don't have a birth certificate for her, so they'll want to get as far away from here as they can."

            "How do we track them from here?"

            "Well," Jarod began, "We get the police involved. What did they say, by the way?"

            Trista shrugged, "They didn't exactly believe me, Jarod. No one believes me. Two officers came to take my statement, but because I didn't report it right away and because I have no official proof of Caitlyn's existence, they were very skeptical," she sighed, almost as in defeat, "I don't think they're going to try very hard to do anything about it."

            Jarod had been afraid of that, but he wouldn't let it worry him. He knew he could find Caitlyn faster than the police could anyway.

            "Don't worry," he soothed, "I'll find her."

            Miss Parker was walking past Sydney's office when she saw that he was still sitting at his desk, silent and unmoving. She stopped, watched him from his doorway. He seemed so very old just then, old and tired.

            "You ok, Syd?" her voice uncharacteristically soft and concerned.

            Looking up in start, Sydney gave Parker a weary smile, "Yes, quite all right. I got another call from Jarod this evening," he admitted.

            An eyebrow raised, "Oh? What did wonder-boy have to say tonight?"

            As usual, Sydney refused to rise to her baiting; he just looked up at her blankly as if something truly terrible had happened.

            "He wanted information about someone named Jeremy," Sydney admitted, rubbing his eyes.

            Parker frowned, "Who is Jeremy?"

            Shrugging, Sydney shook his head, "I don't know."

            A strange feeling entered Parker's heart as she gazed down at Sydney. She wasn't used to any tender emotions assaulting her, and assaulting her was what they were doing now. She had long since contained any feelings that could get in the way with her job. But for tonight, she would give in to them, and then threaten Sydney to complete and utter silence if he dared to ever mention it again.

            "Go home Syd, you look like death warmed over."

            Nodding, the older man began to rise, his hands placed on his desk to steady his weary body.

            "Thank you Parker," Sydney told her.

            Feeling her job was done, she turned to leave when Sydney's voice stopped her.

            "Jarod's not been sleeping very well lately. He's had insomnia ever since that girl died. You know, Jillian."

            This time, Parker had no snappy comeback. All she could think about was the body of that girl lying crumpled on the pavement, her blood gushing from the bullet hole in her back.

            "She was never supposed to die," she finally was able to croak.

            There was some shifting behind her, and then suddenly Sydney was next to her, close by not touching her.

            "It wasn't your fault, Parker. He knows that."

            A smile of admiration touched Miss Parker's lips, "You should have been there to see the way she stood up to Lyle and I. If not for that damned Billy, they would have both escaped," she paused, "Unharmed.

            "How many others like her and Jarod are there, Syd? How many people have been ripped away from everything they knew to be brought to this … hellhole?"

            It was the first time Sydney had ever seen Parker display any sympathy for anyone other than herself or her father. It made him smile as he saw the naked look of pain in her eyes and saw how she was actually opening up to him.

            He shook his head, "I don't know, Parker. A year ago, I would have said very few, but now … I'm not so sure. If we never knew about Jillian, then I can only imagine how many other children grew up here like that."

            The veil drifted down in Miss Parker's eyes. She shrugged away from Sydney, pulling herself together, "My only concern right now is finding Jarod and bringing him in," she snapped, more to remind herself than Sydney that she couldn't afford distractions.

            Sydney watched as she stomped away, her heels echoing hollowly in the eerie hallways of the Centre.

            Her question made him think. He sighed wearily and went back to his desk to search. He'd let Jarod down in so many other ways over the years. He didn't want to keep doing so.

            A ringing in his ears woke him up. His eyes bleary, he looked around the room, seeing Trista curled up on the couch next to him, his laptop still on, the screen showed his e-mail account.

            He sat up and stretched his arms above his head and groaned loudly as he pulled all the kinks from his muscles. His groans woke up Trista, who indulged in her own hearty stretch.

            "What time is it?" she mumbled as Jarod came to sit down next to her.

            He glanced at the watch on his computer, "It's after 7. Are you hungry? I could order us some breakfast," he offered.

            He accessed the new e-mail and saw it was from Sydney.

            "Sounds good," she sat up and glanced over Jarod's shoulder, wondering what he was doing, "What's that?"

            "An e-mail from a friend," he told her absently, reading what Sydney had written.

            It read:

            _Jarod,_

_            I had Broots do a search for your friend. This is what he found._

_            Re: The Ghost Project_

_            Jrm seems to be adjusting well. Will update later with more detailed report._

_            Z_

_            I know this isn't what you hoped for, but it is all we could find about your friend. If we run across anything, I will let you know._

_Sydney_

            Trista read the short e-mail over Jarod's shoulder, "What does all that mean? What's the Ghost Project?" she wondered.

            Jarod only shook his head, still lost in his own thoughts, "I don't know, Trista. I really don't know."

            "Does this have anything to do with Caitlyn?"

            A sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach brought Jarod out of his mental reveries, "I think so, Trista."

            A frown marred Trista's brow as she looked at Jarod staring vacantly at his computer screen. Something was wrong with him, he was acting strangely. She snapped her fingers in front of Jarod's face while saying in a sing-song voice, "Hey, Jarod. Wake up. Snap out of it."

            He shook his head and looked over at her, wondering how much of what was going on he should tell her. He closed his eyes briefly, realizing that soon he'd have to head back to Blue Cove, back to the Centre.

            "I'm sorry, Trista. I think Jeremy's past has finally caught up to you."

            She stilled, her face paled, "What do you mean, Jarod?"

            Jarod couldn't look at her. He wasn't even sure he wanted to calculate the odds of him running into this sort of a situation.

            "It means we are not safe here anymore," he told her, realizing that at any moment, sweepers could barge into his room and he wouldn't have been the wiser had he not gone with his gut instincts and checked with Sydney.

            He began unplugging his computer from the wall, gathering his things. Trista only sat there watching him, her breathing shallow as the full weight of his words sank into her.

            "I don't have time to explain everything now, but I think you already know that. We have to leave, now, Trista," Jarod's voice commanded.

            She opened her mouth to reply, but she couldn't say anything. Instead, she got up and began helping Jarod pack up his essentials. He grabbed all his clothes hanging in the closet and then retrieved a medium sized silver suitcase. Once everything was together, Trista helped him carry the laptop and his leather jacket.

            He was closing the door while Trista began heading for the elevators, but Jarod's voice stopped her.

            "Not the elevators, Trista. Follow me," he told her.

            She obeyed, knowing instinctively that something was about to happen. They walked down the hallway in the opposite direction of the elevators and turned a corner. Jarod led her through the maze of corridors, with brass numbered doorways lining each side. Finally, he led her to a fire escape in the back of the building. Opening the window, he shoved all his things through first.

            "You can't be serious Jarod," Trista squeaked, "I'm afraid of heights," she admitted.

            It took Jarod a moment to calm his already fraying nerves; he took a deep breath and grabbed both of Trista's shoulders, looking deep into her dark eyes.

            "Look at me, Trista. There is nothing to be afraid of. We'll go out the fire escape, climb down the ladder. Just remember, don't look down," Jarod instructed her, his voice level and soothing.

            Nodding, "All right," she whispered.

            He climbed out the window first, and then beckoned her to follow him. She took a deep breath before awkwardly pulling her body through the window with Jarod's help. He had made it look so easy. It really wasn't.

            He lowered the black metal ladder and gave her a reassuring smile. After securing everything to his person, he began his descent to the streets below. She watched him, her whole body tense as every time his foot moved one rung lower, as one of his hands left the security of the rungs.

            "Now or never, Trista," she coached herself, "Think of Caitlyn."

            Holding her breath, she took secured the laptop to her person and carefully began to climb down. Jarod's voice encouraged her as she made her way down, until her foot finally reached the ground. She felt faint with relief and a heady sense of accomplishment.

            Unfortunately there was no time to stare in wonder over her daring feat, for there was a shout from the window, and a man with dark hair and a black suit with a crisp white shirt poked his head out of the window.

            "There he is!"

            Jarod grabbed her hand and began tugging her away. They ran down the alleyway and disappeared from Sam's view.

            Miss Parker pulled Sam out of her way, she managed to get her body out of the window and stood staring after Jarod, her gun drawn in readiness, as he and his accomplice disappeared around the corner.

            "Damn it, Sam. Don't you ever get in my way again," Parker seethed as she turned to face her most trusted sweeper. Her eyes flashed fire, her mouth tightened into a grim line.

            "I'm sorry, Miss Parker," Sam mumbled as she crawled back into the hotel.

            "We were this close to capturing wonder-boy," she ranted as she walked down the hallway.

            "Too bad he got away. As usual, sis," Lyle told her as he caught up to her quick strides back to the elevators.

            "Can it, Lyle," Miss Parker snapped, not in the mood for his usual jabs at her inability to capture the lab rat.

            "The Tower isn't going to be very happy about this, you know," Lyle warned, "Neither will Dad."

            Miss Parker stopped, turned slowly to face her twin brother, the bane of her existence since the day he'd walked into her life, especially when he'd found out he was her brother.

            "What I'd like to know, Lyle, where the hell were you when I was running down the science experiment?" she raised an eyebrow waiting for an answer he never gave her. "That's what I thought," she said imperiously as she swept away, her heels sounding muted clicks as she stalked down the hallway.

            Before Lyle resumed walking after his sister, a secret smile played about his perfectly handsome face, "I was taking care of business, sister dear," he murmured as he began walking after his beloved twin.


	3. Chapter Three Back to Blue Cove

Note: The characters of Jarod, Sydney, Miss Parker, etc. belong to TNT and whoever else owns them. This is nothing more than me paying tribute to what was a great show. I'm not trying to make money, etc. You know the drill.

This story is pre-pretender movies, since I didn't like where the movies took the story. It doesn't exactly pick up where season four left off either, so you could say this is just one of "those" stories.

Chapter Three

"My car is a couple of blocks over," Trista huffed as they ran, every so often throwing a glance over her shoulder to see if their pursuers had caught up to them yet.

Jarod shook his head, slowing his pace for Trista who was obviously not in very good shape, "No good. They know about you, they'll be watching your car for certain."

"How would they have found my car? It's in a public parking lot several blocks from the hotel," Trista wondered breathlessly.

"We have to assume they've found it by now, Trista. I don't want to risk them finding me or you," Jarod told her.

They stopped; Trista leaned over, her hands resting against her knees as she gasped for breath. Jarod took several gulps of air before his breathing was almost normal again.

"We'll take a cab to a car rental place and get out of San Antonio. Do you need to call anyone and let them know you're going out of town?"

Trista shook her head, "No, I took a couple of months off to take care of Caitlyn. I saved the money while I was pregnant. I'm supposed to return to work in a few weeks."

Jarod frowned, "Shouldn't you let your family know where you are?"

A sad smile hovered on Trista's lips, "I would if I had any family, Jarod. Caitlyn is all I've got now."

Jarod gave her a sheepish smile, "It's hard being alone, isn't it?"

"Yes. You understand that, just like Jeremy did, don't you?" Trista finally realized, "Why do I get the feeling you and Jeremy have a lot more in common than just your sad eyes?"

"Because you have good instincts, Trista. I don't have enough proof of it yet, but I bet I know who has your daughter, though I don't really know why."

She shivered, "I knew he was in trouble, I never realized how serious it was. Maybe I just didn't want to think about it too much."

"No one does. We need to keep moving, though. They won't give up until they've caught us," Jarod told her as he turned to walk.

Scrambling to catch up, Trista was silent for a moment, then asked "If they find us, they'll kill me, won't they?"

As much as he didn't want to admit it, he did, "Yes, I'm certain they will."

There wasn't much talking after that, each lost in their own private thoughts.

Jarod lead them to a small restaurant and called a cab from his cell phone. While they waited, they ordered coffee and chatted about nothing in particular. There were too many prying eyes and ears to have a real discussion about the thoughts that weighed heavily on their minds.

One cab ride and an hour later, they were on their way out of San Antonio. It was after ten already. Jarod was driving, feeling his tension begin to rise as he headed back to the one place he'd once swore to himself he'd never return to.

"Are you going to fill me on what's going on?" Trista's voice interrupted his thoughts.

He didn't actually, but he owed her an explanation on behalf of Jeremy at least. She needed to know what they were up against.

"Remember when I told you I was kidnapped from my parents as a child?" he began.

She nodded, not willing to even utter a sound in fear that he might not explain himself to her.

"I was kidnapped by a powerful and secret corporation known as the Centre in 1963. A couple of years ago, I escaped after I found out that the Centre had been using my genius to destroy innocent lives solely for profit. Ever since, I've been on the run trying to make reparations for what I've done."

"I'm not certain I understand …"

Jarod smiled, realizing what he'd done.

"Sorry. I should have explained it better," he took another breath and began again, "I'm a pretender. I can become anything or anyone I want to become. I've been a doctor, a lawyer, a fireman, a stock broker, a naval officer to name just a few of the professions I've pretended since my escape. With my unique abilities, I can simulate any situation. I've simulated anything from the JFK assassination to better navigational systems for the government. What I didn't know was that the Centre was selling my simulations to the highest bidder to use anyway they saw fit. Because of my abilities, I'm responsible for many innocent deaths."

"But Jarod, you had no idea what they were doing. You're not responsible, the Centre is," Trista argued, when Jarod made no response, she decided to pursue another line of questioning; "I still don't see what this has to do with Jeremy."

"That e-mail I received from my friend this morning, it was about Jeremy, I sure. The Centre was involved in more than just the Pretender Project. I've uncovered so many secrets, so many hidden projects it would literally blow your mind. The Ghost Project is one of the many projects they didn't want anyone to find out about. Only someone who knew what he was looking for and where to look would be able to find it."

"So your friend is still at the Centre?"

Jarod nodded.

Trista's eyes widened, "Then how can you be sure they haven't betrayed you?"

Laughing, Jarod shook his head, "Because I didn't tell him where I was, nor would he been able to find out from the phone call I made. My cell phone is untraceable unless you knew exactly how I obscured the signal. He was also my handler at the Centre. I've known him for more than thirty years; he's more interested in analyzing my genius than hurting me."

Trista gave him a hooded look, "You care a lot about him, don't you? Or else you would have severed all ties to anyone at the Centre unless you needed something. What other little surprises are you keeping from me, Jarod?" she wondered.

"And you're more perceptive than I gave you credit for being, Trista," Jarod countered.

She shook her head, smiling, "I see that's another forbidden subject by your refusal to discuss it. All right, so you think the Centre has taken my daughter?"

"It wouldn't be the first time they've kidnapped a child," he replied bitterly

She turned away, looking out the window at the passing scenery, "Where is the Centre? Where are we going?" she finally asked.

"Blue Cove, Delaware," Jarod growled.

Her conversation with Sydney continued to plague her, especially after the fiasco in San Antonio. Jarod wasn't the only one who was losing sleep over what had happened with the female pretender who'd been the tool Lyle had used to bring Jarod in, and then ended up rescuing him and sacrificing herself in the process. She had boldly proclaimed she would rather die free then live at the Centre and she'd gotten her wish.

_What the hell is the matter with you, Parker?_ She snapped at herself. She had been standing in her office staring blankly at the folders she held in her hand. She refused to allow herself to dwell on it any further.

Standing, she walked out of her office and closed her door behind her. When she looked up, there was a man watching her, his brilliant green eyes searching her face as he stood, halfway in the shadows.

Parker glared back at the man, refusing to be intimidated by his unnerving stare. She had seen him a few times over the years, though she had never actually spoken with him before. She'd seen him coming from her father's office, conversing with Raines and even sharing jokes with Lyle, more recently. Yet, in all this time, she'd never heard his name, never known who he was.

He raised a mocking eyebrow at her, smiled and sauntered off.

The encounter left her unsettled. In that moment, she knew something sinister was going on at the Centre. Not that something sinister wasn't happening all the time, but she knew this wasn't the usual stirrings of evil.

If anyone could unravel this little mystery, it would be Broots. With that thought firmly in mind, she went in search for the resident computer geek.

She found him not too much later where he always was, his office, surrounded by computer terminals and whatnot.

"Broots!" her voice rang out.

The nervous little man snapped to attention, stammering, "Y-yes, Miss Parker?"

Seeing the man shudder visibly in intimidation put Parker in a better mood, as it usually did, "Have you ever seen a man with jet black hair and disturbingly brilliant green eyes? He's rather tall, with copper colored skin," she described.

Broots' eyes widened, "Actually Miss Parker, yeah I have. Why?"

Ignoring his question, she shifted her weight from one foot to the other, "Do you know his name?"

"Well," Broots said, dragging the word out hesitantly.

"Do you know his name or not, Broots? I haven't got all day to listen to you stutter!" she snapped.

He nodded, "N-no, Miss Parker," he managed to answer, "I don't know who he is."

She sighed in frustration, "Then find out. That shouldn't be too hard for you, Broots," she sneered.

He nodded his head avidly, "Yes, Miss Parker."

They stood there, he staring at her with that stupid puppy dog look in his eyes, and she waiting for him to get a move on with her latest orders.

Gritting her teeth, she snarled, "Today Broots, can you find out today?" she tossed over her shoulder as she turned on her heel and stormed out.

By the time Jarod had pulled into a roadside motel, it was almost midnight. They were almost to Memphis. He was exhausted, but as soon as they got into the room, memories of a room similar to this one assaulted his mind's eye.

The motel was nothing more than a decently priced stop for weary travelers. It had seen better days. The paint was cracked and peeling, the carpets in need of a seriously deep steam cleaning and the bathroom's sink and toilet were permanently stained yellowish brown and nothing short of replacement could get them white again.

They had asked for one room with two beds. Jarod realized he wasn't going to get much sleep that night and he was glad he had requested separate beds now because Trista didn't need him to keep her up as well.

Once they both tiredly stumbled into the room, Trista groaned, "I just remembered I have no clothes, deodorant, tooth brush, nothing. Great!" she complained.

Jarod rummaged through his clothing until he came upon a pair of sweats and another t-shirt, this one white.

"Here, you can borrow these," he told her as he tossed them in her direction, too tired to aim more accurately, "I'll see if I can't find a drugstore with the rest of the things you need," he added, then yawned.

She nodded, bending to pick up the shirt which had fallen short and landed on the floor, then shuffled into the bathroom to change. A second later, he heard a high pitched shriek.

Panic filled him and without a second thought, Jarod ran to the bathroom door and flung it open. There Trista stood her eyes wide in fright as a cockroach flew past her face. She shrieked again, her hands began to swat at nothing as she ran into Jarod, pushing past him into the main room of the motel.

"Kill it, kill it, kill it! It attacked me! It's trying to get me!" she screamed hysterically.

Said roach landed on the far bathroom wall, next to the shower stall, complete with plastic water-stained doors. Jarod and the roach regarded one another for a moment, all while Trista still ranted about how it landed in her hair and tried to crawl into her shirt.

Sighing, Jarod gave the roach a crooked grin, "It seems you have to go, roach. You scared the shit out of my friend here," he told the bug cheerfully.

Grabbing one of the small plastic cups the motel provided, he unwrapped the plastic wrapping and went to capture the bug. Easily done, he had the roach trapped under the cup.

Trista poked her head in the bathroom, "Did you get it yet?" she asked breathlessly, her eyes darting back and forth surreptitiously.

He couldn't help it, Jarod began howling with laughter. It had just been one of those days and this was just the stress reliever he needed. Somehow or other, between fits of laughter and being scolded by Trista for not taking her fear of nasty critters flying in her face serious enough, Jarod managed to get the roach outside and let it loose, much to Trista's chagrin. However, it just wasn't in Jarod to kill the little bugger. 

When Jarod closed the door, he noticed that Trista was back in the bathroom, sans the roach, and he was left alone with his brooding thoughts. He sat down on the bed, waiting for Trista to come out.

Five minutes later, the toilet flushed and the door opened. Trista, her hair pulled back loosely from her face, she looked so charmingly cute and girlish in his clothes that Jarod smiled at her. The sweats pooled around her ankles, and though baggy t-shirts had always been her style, she just looked lost in this one. She gave him a playful look then flopped onto her own bed.

"You've been moody since we arrived, want to talk?" she offered.

It had been six months since Jillian … could he?

Trista waited expectantly, pulling her knees up to rest her chin on them. Sitting there in that moment, her face expectant and still so innocent, she almost reminded Jarod of Jillian.

He gave her a mournful smile, "A friend of mine died several months ago."

She was silent, allowing him to gather his thoughts and remember her.

"She was … like me, a pretender. Only she was still at the Centre, and they wanted her to find me, bring me back. She agreed only because they had dangled her freedom in her face, knowing it was an irresistible temptation for her."

"What happened?" Trista prodded after Jarod was silent for several minutes.

"They captured me. But then she rescued me," he paused, "Somehow, they found us. I never knew how, I guess I didn't want to know. They surrounded us, but she was smarter than that. She grabbed one of their guns and held it to my head and threatened to make me useless to the Centre if they didn't allow us to leave. It took a lot of guts and courage for her to be able to convince them she was serious. They were going to let us leave. We were almost to the car too, when one of the sweepers shot her and she died."

"How horrible!" she whispered, clearly outraged.

Jarod could only nod.

"What was her name?" Trista wanted to know.

He tilted his head to the side, remembering the brief time they'd shared, "Jillian. Her name was Jillian."

He took a deep breath and willed himself to snap out of his current funk. He looked over at Trista ad gave her a sloppy half smile, "You should try and sleep. We have a long drive ahead of us tomorrow. I'm going to see if I can find a drugstore and a car seat. We'll need one for when we find Caitlyn," Jarod told her.

A hopeful smile answered his, "Thank you, Jarod," Trista murmured as she pulled the covers down and crawled beneath the sheets.


	4. Chapter Four Project Ghost

Note: The characters of Jarod, Sydney, Miss Parker, etc. belong to TNT and whoever else owns them. This is nothing more than me paying tribute to what was a great show. I'm not trying to make money, etc. You know the drill.

This story is pre-pretender movies, since I didn't like where the movies took the story. It doesn't exactly pick up where season four left off either, so you could say this is just one of "those" stories.

Thanks to Maestra for all your help and for brainstorming with me the other night. *hugs* This one's for you kiddo!

Chapter Four

Miss Parker's unique gait could be heard several moments before she actually came into view. She stopped right behind Broots, her silence making a shudder of fear and respect run through the computer geek.

"Have you found anything yet, Broots?" she demanded.

Turning in his swiveling chair ever so slowly, Broots tilted his head back to look up at Miss Parker, giving her a hesitant grin before answering her question.

"Well, uhm, not exactly, Miss Parker. I'm still looking though," he reassured her quickly.

A frown marred her lovely face, "You mean to tell me that you haven't found anything? Not a damn thing?" she hissed, her eyes sparking with anger already.

Shivering, Broots nodded; his misery plain to see.

Parker gritted her teeth, "There has to be something, find it Broots. I don't care how you do it!" she snapped as she whirled on her heel and stalked away, leaving poor Broots quaking in fear and disappointment.

He had run every search he could think of, and came up with nothing. The only other thing he could think of to do would be to find out which office belonged to this mysterious man and access his files from his personal terminal.

Even the thought of playing cloak and dagger within the Centre's watching walls was as unnerving a thought as Broots could think of. Whoever this man was, he didn't want anyone to know who he was and trying to track down that information could be seriously hazardous to his peace of mind, not to mention his health.

What could he do? He had a direct order from Miss Parker and he didn't dare disobey her. Swallowing heavily, he silently cursed the day he'd ever come to work for this sinister place then sent a silent prayer to any god above that might hear him.

Death by mystery man or death by Miss Parker; neither was an appealing option. Knowing Miss Parker, she'd surely come up with some horribly painful way to die, something involving removing his body parts. He would have to find this mystery man's office and pray no one found out he was there.

What else was a computer geek to do?

After having found a drugstore and bought some essentials for Trista, Jarod had come back to the room on to find that he couldn't sleep. Again.

He felt his brain begin to short circuit as he sat in the motel room, Trista snoring ever so softly on her bed. He kept going over everything in his mind and nothing seemed to make any sense. He picked up the composite drawing he'd done of the mysterious Catherine Gardner and stared into the shaded eyes staring back at him. Why did he keep thinking he knew her? Who was she really? What did she have to do with Trista, Jeremy and their four month old daughter?

Something was eluding him. He could sense it, feel it, and almost taste it for God's sake. Why couldn't he remember it? Desperation made him grab for his laptop and flip it open, plug the cable into the phone jack and begin typing almost feverishly.

He pulled up the email from Sydney and looked it over, every word stuck in his mind. The memo was purposely short and abbreviated so as to remain as elusive as possible. What was so secretive? A growl tore from Jarod's throat as he sat there, his eyes burned from lack of sleep as he stared at his monitor; nothing was making any sense.

An idea born on sheer desperation came to him. Might as well break into the Centre's mainframe and see what he could find that Broots might have overlooked. His fingers flew over the keyboard as the program he'd written himself came up and he accessed the Centre. The logo came on screen and Jarod smiled in anticipation. It was always satisfying to thumb his nose at the Centre while uncovering more of her secrets.

At the same time…

Broots sat there sweating profusely as he typed in the codes to access the computer in the office. He darted glances over his shoulders and around the shadowed room constantly. He muttered a few more prayers under his breath as he brought up personal files that made absolutely no sense to him whatsoever.

They were all in code! Broots chuckled to himself. Given enough time, he'd crack it like an opera singer in a room full of crystal. He'd just copy and look it over later. Whatever it was, it was important enough to put into code and therefore something that might mean something to Miss Parker.

Suddenly the computer beeped loudly, and then a window popped up. Broots cursed quietly because an unknown source had breeched the Centre's security. Curious, Broots tracked the signal, and when that was unsuccessful, he figured it was Jarod.

Laughing again to himself, he wondered at the odds of both of them trying access forbidden information at the very same time. Ah well, he'd make certain no one else found out about Jarod until it was too late. It was the least he could do for the man since Jarod had made certain his ex-wife didn't get custody of Debbie. Besides, if they found out about Jarod just now, they might find Broots as well and he really didn't want that to happen.

Still, no sense in not trying to track Jarod's signal again; Miss Parker would skin him alive if he didn't try to find him. He pulled his cell phone out of his pants' pocket and speed dialed Miss Parker, even though it was after midnight.

"What!?" came the snapped response.

"Miss Parker, you're never going to believe this, but I am in that guy's office, you know that one you wanted me to find out his identity. Well, I've accessed his computer and almost as soon as I did, Jarod breeched the Centre's security," Broots explained in a rushed whisper.

He heard some rustling over the phone as Miss Parker sat up in bed, "Broots, it's almost one o'clock in the morning, what the hell are you talking about? Have you been sniffing white-out again?" Miss Parker growled sleepily.

If Broots didn't know she'd bite his head off, Broots might have giggled at Miss Parker's slur against him. Instead he merely explained himself more carefully. Miss Parker was instantly on alert.

"Have you traced the signal yet, Broots?" she wondered.

Broots looked about the office again, noting its strange lack of personal ornamentation. There were no pictures, no plaques, no certificates that lined the drab walls. Nothing that might tell Broots who this man with the strange eyes might be, what he did at the Centre, nothing.

Heck, he had several of Debbie's pictures pinned in his office. Even Miss Parker had a picture of her mother in her office. Sydney proudly displayed all his degrees and whatnot. But there was nothing in this office. Who was this man?

"Broots? Answer me, damn it!" Miss Parker snarled.

Shaking himself, Broots managed to stammer, "S-sorry, Miss Parker, yes I traced the signal but I couldn't find where it originated from. Jarod is too careful for that."

"Damn it," she paused, "Well, keep trying Broots, wonder-boy is bound to screw up eventually. Call me if you find something."

Click.

Broots really hated when she did that.

Getting back to the computer, he downloaded all the files on the computer to a disk and logged off. For now, Jarod would have to remain un-captured because there was no way he was going to risk life and limb to remain in this creepy office any longer.

At the same time…

Jarod clapped a hand over his mouth when he saw that Broots was logged on and trying to track his signal. When would the man ever learn? He glimpsed the files that Broots downloaded and copied them himself. Whatever was in them, it couldn't hurt if Jarod peeked as well.

He also saw that Broots had blocked his signal so that no one else could detect him while he ran his search. He silently thanked Broots, who was all in all a good man, just working for the wrong people.

He tracked down the memo Sydney had sent to him in Mr. Parker's files and wondered again what the Ghost Project was.

Something struck him as he looked over the memo again. He had always assumed the letter Z was an abbreviation for someone's name, but what if it was nothing more than the name itself? He ran a search and came up with one file simply named "Ghost".

A sense of foreboding filled him. In that file was something vitally important to the Centre. Hell, it could even involve him as well. He opened it.

**_Zuhuco_**_ has been placed in a controlled environment. Monitoring him. Stage 2 will be commencing in three days. **[See DSA JEZ-139462-99]** Eleanor will be heading that segment of the project. ** [Please refer to the NuGenesis files JLP-5621-1976/JPC-2187-1999]** Please send a team of Cleaners to retrieve the subject as he has had Sweeper training. DO NOT TERMINATE._

When was it dated? Four days ago.

That was it. Who was Eleanor? What did Zuhuco mean? Jarod shook his head, trying to clear away the cobwebs from his brain. More files to hunt and track; more hacking, more reading. Deciding his head hurt too much, Jarod shut down his computer and was certain sleep might be just the thing. He kicked off his shoes and lay down on the bed only to find that sleep was ever elusive as usual and stayed awake all night, staring up at the discolored ceiling.

When Trista awoke, she wasn't expecting to find herself in a dingy motel room. She jumped up, until her mind became fully alert and remembered where she was. And why.

"Oh god," she breathed, all the pain of the last two days catching up with her again.

Jarod was immediately by her side, comforting her and holding her in a sure embrace, "It'll be alright," he assured her, "We'll find her, I promise."

His voice calmed her somewhat and she pushed away to look up into his face. She smiled sheepishly, then wiped away her tears, "You always seem to be there when I need you, Jarod," she laughed, trying to lighten not only her mood, but the serious look in Jarod's eyes as well.

He gave her a crooked grin, "At your service, ma'am, a self-proclaimed knight in shining armor, complete with dragon slaying sword."

Again she smiled. Pulling completely away from him, she got up and stretched her stiff muscles, groaning as she did so.

"I got you a tooth brush, tooth paste, deodorant, shampoo and conditioner. It's all in the bathroom. Whatever else you need, we can stop somewhere and pick it up before we leave town."

A slight blush stained Trista's cheeks; she giggled nervously and ran into the bathroom without answering him. Sometimes he was just too practical about "those" things. Oh well, she shrugged, he didn't seem to mind all the embarrassing things she'd done since they'd met. Among all of them, this one might have been the least humiliating.

She peeled her borrowed clothing from her body and allowed it to pool at her feet before stepping from them. She turned on the hot and cold water for a nice shower, which would remove some of the grime she'd acquired since this whole ordeal began. It would feel good to be clean again.

Ten minutes later, she came out in the same clothing she'd been wearing to sleep in and a white towel wrapped around her head. She'd figured it was cleanest and that was all that mattered to her. Besides, Jarod had plenty of clothing to spare, and so far he hadn't seemed to mind sharing it with her at all. She smiled at him, thinking he must be her guardian angel, how else could she explain it?

Jarod looked up from his computer and wondered exactly how much he should tell her of the little he'd found last night. Well, what exactly had he found? Another memo that made little or no sense only because he needed more information, though he was certain it was about Jeremy, Caitlyn and whatever mystery surrounded the younger man. Jarod had figured as he lay in bed all night, that Zuhuco must be a code word for Jeremy. It was the exact same letters and had been in a file named Ghost. He had learned long ago that there were no coincidences in the Centre.

Should he? He decided against it. She already had so much to worry about. It would keep until he knew more about what was going on.

They gathered their belongings and got on the road again.

By about 9 that night, they had arrived at Blue Cove, but only because Jarod had drove almost non-stop, determined to get there as soon as possible. It had been over two days since Caitlyn had been taken, he didn't want Trista to have to suffer another day without her daughter.

On the outskirts of Blue Cove, about five miles away from the coastline, Jarod insisted Trista stay at the Motel 6 he'd rented a room at.

"I want to come with you, I want to be there when you find my daughter, Jarod," she'd cried.

"You don't understand what kind of people we're up against, Trista. You already pointed out that if they find you, they'll kill you. Now listen to me Trista," he put his forefinger under her chin, that was damp from her tears and lifted her head to meet his solemn gaze, "If I am not back by tomorrow night, or I don't contact you in some way, I want you to run as far and as fast as you can. Take that silver case with you and the black leather briefcase; it contains several credit cards and some cash. Don't look back, Trista, do you understand?"

She could only nod, her fear which had been manageable, increasing by the second as she realized, perhaps for the first time, that Jarod was risking everything to help her.

"Why are you doing this for me, Jarod? You don't owe me anything."

There was no answer for several moments, but when Jarod finally met her eyes, she saw such naked pain, it made her want to comfort this man before her as he had done for her so many times, "Because I wish someone had done it for my parents when I was taken from them. I won't let your daughter grow up like I did."

She nodded. What else was there to say, especially after that? There was no good response to that, nothing she could do to ease his pain. Instead she gave him her bravest smile and wished him luck. God knows he would need it.

As Jarod drove, ever closer to the Centre, his tension rose until he felt like a tightly wound coil, ready to spring forth at the slightest pressure. He slowed down, the darkness pressed around the car he was driving, making him feel caged already. He scanned the sides of the road, looking for the small trail that would lead him to his long ago exit from Purgatory.

Abandoning the car behind a clump of bushes, he pulled his dark coat closer to his body, shivering in spite of himself. There it was the gaping mouth of hell. There was no choice but to enter and pray he didn't damn his soul for all eternity.

He had e-mailed Angelo last night, explaining that he was arriving tonight, asking him to meet him in the air vents near Raines' office. If anyone knew what was going on, it would be that creepy bag of bones.

As he traversed the venting system, memories assaulted him from all sides. Some good, mostly they were downright frightening.

Before he arrived at Raines' office via the air vents, Angelo found him. Knowing that Angelo was an empath, Jarod had thought to bring Caitlyn's dress along with him. If Caitlyn was in any danger, Angelo would know.

"Jarod!" Angelo murmured happily, his usually empty eyes dancing with joy as he embraced his old childhood friend.

"Angelo," Jarod returned, pulling the man into an awkward embrace, he pulled away, "Do you know anything about the Ghost Project, Angelo?"

A flicker of emotion crossed Angelo's face, "Ghost?" he asked distastefully.

Nodding, Jarod pulled the pink and white sundress out of the backpack he carried. He handed it over to Angelo, who took it with another happy grin and fingered it delicately.

"Baby girl," he proclaimed proudly, then frowned, "Misses mommy. Scared, alone, crying!" he told Jarod in fear.

Jarod nodded, "Can you take me to the baby girl, Angelo? Can you take me to Caitlyn?"

Angelo seemed to be feeling something uncomfortable. He turned and began to crawl away, mumbling to himself.

"Ghost … baby … Ghost …"

Jarod followed behind Angelo, praying his friend was taking him to the infant. He hated being here, but he refused to leave without the child. Several twisty passages later, Angelo stopped and scooted over to make room so Jarod could view the room they'd arrived at.

As he looked down through the grating, Jarod saw a woman and two men, their voices whispered quietly, so it was hard for Jarod to understand them.

Anger and rage flew through Jarod as he saw that one of the men was Lyle, though he didn't recognize the other one and the woman was no other than Catherine Gardner.

Mr. Lyle left, seemingly satisfied by whatever discussion the group had had. The man sat down at his desk, his jet black hair gleaming in the light, with very few strands of white marring its pristine blackness.

Catherine Gardner gave the man a piercing look, "Are you ever going to tell Lyle that Jeremy is his son?" she asked.

The man sat forward slowly, deliberately, "Perhaps in time. What good would it do for him to know now? Jeremy is mine, not Lyle's. I will not allow him to take that control away from me."

Sighing in seemingly frustration, Catherine turned from the man, "He will find out eventually. You cannot keep that a secret from him forever. When he does find out, he will be furious with you for keeping such vital information from him. We are talking about Mr. Parker's son, for God's sake."

The man chuckled, "That remains to be seen, my dear Eleanor. Please calm down now, it is time for you to go and feed our little Caitlyn while I must see to Jeremy."

Eleanor nodded and walked out of the office, leaving the man alone.

The man stood, he was very tall, Jarod noted.

"Soon the Ghost Project will come to fruition," he murmured delightedly, and then he left.

Jarod turned to Angelo, "Follow that man, Angelo. Tell me where he goes. I must find the baby girl, all right?" he instructed carefully.

Angelo merely nodded and began crawling away.

Jarod had no choice but to leave the safety of the ventilation system. He carefully pushed on the grating and pulled it into the vent next to him, then carefully lowered himself down in the office. Taking a deep breath, he went in search of Catherine Gardner, a.k.a. Eleanor.

She was nowhere in sight. Not good. In fact, there was no one in sight, Jarod noted as he glanced up and down the hallways. But if he had to wager where they were keeping Caitlyn, he'd have to say in the nursery on SL-13.

Though avoiding the guards was no problem for Jarod, wondering if he was going in the right direction made him nervous. He arrived, however, on SL-13 with no mishap and made his way down to the nursery.

There he saw her, holding Trista's daughter, rocking to her and feeding her from a bottle. Again, a flash of recognition made him stop short and wonder just who she was. He waited, hiding in the shadows of a supply closet, knowing if he was patient enough, she would leave Caitlyn and then he could leave this godforsaken place and never look back.

Fifteen minutes later, Jarod heard footsteps walking towards the elevators and knew that Eleanor had left. He opened the door very quietly and looked about, seeing no one, he went to the door of the nursery and found it locked securely. No problem there, he short-circuited the keypad and opened the door.

Caitlyn lay there sleeping peacefully in the stainless-steel crib they'd provided, with hospital grade, starch white sheets and a plain baby gown covering her small body. She was as perfect in real life as she had been in the pictures Jarod had seen of her. Rosy cheeks and perfect bow-shaped lips, her eyes lids were delicate and her nose the perfect button shape. A cap of baby fine, blond hair covered her head and Jarod knew from pictures she had dark, intensely blue eyes.

He crossed the room and gently picked up the child, cradling her against his chest. She readjusted herself and fell asleep once more, her body laying so trustingly in his.

"Hello Jarod," a voice sounded from behind.

A tingling premonition shot through his body as he turned to see not only Eleanor standing before him, but the man she'd been talking to only a half an hour before. His vivid green eyes seemed to size him up. The strange calmness in his demeanor unnerved Jarod somewhat.

"It's good to see you again, Jarod," Eleanor smiled, stepping forward and holding out her hands for the baby. Jarod pulled away.

"Come now, Jarod. We do not want Caitlyn hurt in a struggle, so be sensible and give her to me," Eleanor coaxed, her voice stirring memories in Jarod's mind's eye.

_ "Come here, Jarod. I do not want to call the sweepers to make you do as I say," she'd threatened gently, her voice falsely soothing._

_ In a panic, Jarod tried to run away from her but she made good on her threat and called for a set of sweepers to subdue him while she injected something into his body._

_ "Now just relax, Jarod. Relax," she'd ordered him, as the darkness began to swallow him…_

"You," Jarod murmured, "I remember."

An amused smile play across her lips, "I was beginning to wonder if you ever would, Jarod. For all of Sydney's touting of your genius, you certainly are slow on the uptake, my boy."

He shook his head, horrified by the small memory he'd seen. What other things couldn't he remember? What had they done to him?

"Now give me the baby, Jarod. I won't tell you again."

His determination must have shown, for a snap of the man's fingers brought a set of sweepers in the nursery, ready to be commanded.

"Seems we've caught the prey at last. Won't Lyle be thrilled?" the man commented almost idly.

"You've nowhere to run, Jarod; nowhere left to hide. Please hand me the baby," she insisted yet again.

As the sweepers descended upon him, he reluctantly placed the sleeping Caitlyn in Eleanor's waiting arms. They dragged him away as Eleanor placed Caitlyn in the crib once more, smoothing her hair away from the baby's forehead.


	5. Chapter Five Escape

Anything having to do with the Pretender isn't mine. It belongs to TNT and whoever else. This is merely a fanfic, don't sue me!

Again, thanks to Maestra for all your help with this story. I rushed it just for you. Hope you like!!

Chapter Five

"Ghost … baby …" he muttered as he saw the sweepers take Jarod away, "Jarod."

He knew where they would take him. He would follow in the air vents. He would set Jarod free so that they couldn't hurt baby girl. He would help Jarod.

Scrambling into the darkness, Angelo made his way down to SL-22. He arrived outside of the room just as they brought Jarod in it. Though he remained perfectly calm, there was panic in his eyes. The sweepers secured him to a bed, handcuffed his hands and feet to the railings.

"Escape from that, Houdini," one of them sneered.

As soon as Jarod was left alone, Angelo wasted no more time in lowering himself to the floor and trying to release Jarod.

"Angelo," Jarod said quietly, "Can you find me something to pick the lock with? A paper clip will work. Can you find me one?"

Angelo's head bobbed, "Paper clip," he murmured.

"Good. Now hurry, Angelo. Before they come back," Jarod urged.

He crawled into the air vents once more and shuffled through the passageways, coming to Miss Parker's office first. He undid the screen and dropped to the floor with the agility of a child and went searching through her desk for the needed paper clip.

"Thank you, Daughter," he mumbled once he'd found what he sought. However, once he had returned to where Jarod was being kept prisoner, Angelo saw he was no longer alone.

"Who are you?" Jarod was saying.

The tall man with dark skin chuckled, "Haven't you figured it out yet, Jarod? I'm a ghost."

Angelo shuddered as he watched.

"What does that mean?"

The man tsked and began to pace the sterile room, he shook his head, "Must I explain it to you, Jarod? I was so hoping you would have been able to figure it all out from the bread crumbs I left you. The memos, Eleanor, why even Trista was all part of my plan to capture you."

"What is the Ghost Project?" Jarod asked, afraid he already knew the answer.

The man stopped, "When I first came to the Centre, every subject worth having was already being handled. Kyle, you, Angelo, even Lyle, all that was left was Jeremy who was barely more than a child when I took charge of him.

"Don't get me wrong, Jeremy is remarkable. He's also a Pretender Jarod; he inherited the gene from his father and can utilize those skills fully, though at the time he refused to do so. I trained him to be the perfect weapon; Raines may have had Kyle, Lyle and even Angelo, whom he tried to encourage only negative emotion from, but I had Jeremy. Instead of teaching him to be cold and hard, I showed him the value of being human, taught him instead how to make people see only the good in you, to trust you.

"Once I felt he was ready, I released him, his first mission was to track you down and then to capture you. He's done a remarkable job thus far, hasn't he? A perfect success which Raines, Lyle or Miss Parker could never lay claim to. You see, Jeremy was trained to get past people's defenses, earn their trust and then find their weaknesses. We knew you would never allow an innocent child to be taken from its mother, and so the entire kidnapping was a charade."

"You bastard!" Jarod growled.

"Perhaps, but you're back where you belong, Jarod, and I've been promised that if I succeeded in capturing you, I would be allowed to reintegrate you. Isn't that a wonderful thought?

"Just think, if I can take a mediocre Pretender and train him well enough to capture you, what then can I do with you? The possibilities are mind boggling," the man said with glee.

"What will you do with Caitlyn?" Jarod wondered quietly.

He shrugged, "She's been tested at NuGenesis for the gene and come out positive. I'm afraid your friend, Trista will never see her daughter again."

Jarod tried to lunge at the man, but it was entirely useless.

The man merely laughed and then left Jarod alone, quietly furious for having been too blind to see what was before his very eyes. He sighed in defeat and shut his eyes, closing out his surroundings, forgetting in that moment that his ally was waiting to rescue him.

A soft thud startled Jarod from his mental reveries, he opened his eyes and saw Angelo standing there, proudly holding up the paper clip for Jarod to see.

"Found paper clip," he told Jarod.

"Bring it here, Angelo" Jarod urged, his voice hoarse from emotions he didn't dare examine too closely.

Angelo complied quickly, handing Jarod the clip and helping him bend it so Jarod could work the handcuffs open. Luckily, the chain was long enough so that Jarod had the leverage he needed to do so.

In no time, Jarod had unlocked himself from his prison and both men returned to the safety of the air vents.

They returned to the nursery on SL-13, but Caitlyn was gone.

"Damn it!" Jarod growled, "They've moved her to a safer location."

There was only one thing left to do. Free Jeremy.

"Angelo, do you remember when I asked you to follow the man? Where did he go?"

Nodding, Angelo quickly led Jarod to another sub-level and pointed to the room where Jeremy was being restrained in a similar bed that Jarod had just escaped from. With the paper clip in hand, Jarod swung down from the vents and peered suspiciously at the prone body lying before him.

There was something all too eerily familiar about Jeremy and Jarod knew why. That was Lyle's son laying there unconscious. God only knew how that strange man had twisted his mind, but Jarod fully believed in redemption. Isn't that why he himself had escaped the Centre, to find redemption and retribution for himself and those hurt by the Centre's evil? Isn't that why he'd rescued Kyle when he knew that his little brother had been corrupted by Raines and done unspeakable acts that Jarod himself didn't even want to know about?

The Centre had taken too many people, caused too many casualties. A very vivid picture of Jillian came to mind. She was only one in many. She had believed in redemption for herself, too. With all that firmly in mind, Jarod unlocked the handcuffs and freed Jeremy from his physical prison though Jarod knew it would take more than a mere paper clip to free him from his mental prison.

With Angelo's help, Jarod managed to get Jeremy into the vents and drag him out of the Centre's walls.

"You can come with me, you know," Jarod told Angelo, wishing that he would come, but knowing Angelo would never do it.

As expected, Angelo shook his head emphatically, "Must stay. Watch."

Jarod nodded, he was always glad to have an ally he could trust implicitly, but it saddened him to leave his friend here.

"Be safe, my friend," Jarod embraced the man, pulled away to look into the almost vacant eyes, "If you find out where the baby girl is, you know how to reach me."

With a nod, Angelo disappeared into the shadows and Jarod half-carried and half-dragged the younger man to his waiting car as the first streaks of dawn began reaching across the sky.

As Jarod glanced back in the rear-view mirror, wondering what Trista would have to say when she found out that Jeremy had only used her, and then kidnapped their child. He was certain the fireworks were about to spark.

Trista paced nervously, waiting for Jarod, not being able to sleep. She sighed, wishing for the millionth time that Jarod had allowed her to come. She was a doer; she had absolutely no patience for this kind of thing.

Besides, this motel wasn't the cleanest. Who knows what kind of creepy, flying things would attack her and Jarod wasn't even there to eject them from the room for her. She prayed for Caitlyn, for Jarod and for them to return soon. Surely Jarod would succeed in bringing her baby back to her, he'd been so determined.

A car pulled up into one of the parking spaces outside the room and Trista ran to see if it was the rental car. She peeked through the curtains and squealed in delight, seeing Jarod in the car.

Running to the door, she flipped open the locks and flung herself out the door, only to see Jarod get out of the car with a grim look on his face.

She halted, "What's wrong, Jarod?" she whispered.

Jarod shook his head, unable to meet her unwavering eyes, "I'm so sorry, Trista. I had her … but …" he trailed off. Now was not the time to explain everything to her. He turned to the back door of the car and opened it, struggled with the prone body and heard Trista's audible gasp when she saw Jeremy's flaccid face.

"Oh my god," she breathed.

Jarod concurred.

They managed, between the two of them, to get Jeremy into the motel room and lay him on one of the beds. He had been heavily sedated; Jarod could only speculate what they had used on him.

"Will he be alright?" Trista asked hopefully.

Sighing wearily, Jarod didn't know how to tell her about Jeremy, didn't want to try. There was a light in her eyes as she glanced down with concern for Jeremy's well-being. All he could do was nod at her.

The room seemed to press in on him, so Jarod checked Jeremy once again and made sure he wouldn't be stirring anytime soon. He excused himself to go on a little walk to clear his mind, his whirling thoughts.

The sun had risen fully by now and the air around him was warming slowly. Panic set in. What had he done? Redemption was an illusion, he thought bitterly. What had it gotten him? A life filled with pain and loneliness, that's what. What had it gotten his brother Kyle and Jillian? More pain and eventually death. When would he learn? Sydney had been right. He couldn't save everyone.

Back in that motel room was an innocent girl alone with a psychopath at the very least. God only knew what that man had done to the boy, no matter that he wasn't aware that Lyle was his father; he was a Parker, and that was enough. Not even Catherine's gentle spirit had completely erased the dark legacy of Parker's father's corruption. It would continue to poison each generation the Centre touched.

Now it had passed to Caitlyn. She was an innocent, nothing more than a cherub who deserved a happy, normal life with her mother. She did not belong in the Centre. A small tear managed to leak down Jarod's face. He swiped at it angrily, not wanting to feel so much pain all the time. When would it end? When would he be free of his torment?

If the Centre had its way, never; and therein, lay his answer. If he gave up, the Centre would win. Never mind that propriety demanded he stop them. He may have been raised in a sterile environment sans a normal upbringing, but he was still a human and competitiveness was simply in his nature. If nothing else, he had to prove to himself that they wouldn't always win every battle, and especially not the war.

Still, that left him the problem of explaining what was happening to Trista before Jeremy woke up. She would need time to adjust to the idea that Jeremy wasn't the nice guy she'd thought him to be. Jarod suspected she would also be downright furious and try to do something stupid, like beat the shit out of Jeremy and who knew what kind of response that would trigger in him. Jarod knew Jeremy had had Sweeper training, he was extremely dangerous and Jarod wasn't about to let any harm come to Trista.

Hurrying back to the room, Jarod opened the door to find Trista hovering over Jeremy, as if by the sheer force of her will alone she could make him wake up.

"Trista, we need to talk," Jarod began.

She turned to him and gave him a ghost of a smile. She was at odds with herself. Part of her was happy to see Jeremy once again; the other part of her was still frantic over the whereabouts of her daughter.

"Ok," she agreed.

Jarod pulled her away from Jeremy, sat her on the bed and began. Most of it still didn't make any sense to Jarod. But as he finished, the light had gone completely out of Trista's eyes as she glanced over at the man she must have thought she was in love with, the man who had fathered her child. The man who had then kidnapped her child.

"I don't believe you," she whispered, her face was pale, her eyes wide and looked huge in her face.

Jarod didn't know what to tell her. She was in denial and he cursed himself for revealing everything to her. She had deserved to know the truth, but he wondered if, at this point, she could handle it.

She jumped up suddenly and grabbed the first thing that came within her reach. The bedside lamp. She hurled it across the room, the bulb shattered on impact and the base merely dinged the wall and dropped with a muffled thud in the carpet.

Jarod glimpsed Trista's face. No longer was it blanched white, she was furious. Her face was red with anger as she began venting her emotions.

"You bastard!" she screamed, "Why?! You freaking bastard!" she zoned in on Jarod, the only person she could take her anger out on at the moment, pulling her fist back and throwing a punch that might have done some damage had he not dodged it.

Jumping off the bed, Jarod wrapped his stronger arms about her and held her. She struggled and cursed him, trying to beat on him.

Jarod didn't blame her for being angry. He was still angry himself. He merely held onto Trista until she wore herself out and slumped against him.

"I'm sorry, Trista," he murmured against her ear.

She sagged in his arms, her anger spent, now all she had left to feel was the unbearable pain. Her shoulders heaved with the force of her cries and all Jarod could do was hold her still.

"I just want my baby back," Trista finally managed as she began to calm down.

Jarod nodded, his grip on her loosening to release her, knowing that she wouldn't want him near her once her defenses went back into place. It was her way of keeping her distance, not allowing anyone too close both emotionally and physically. He wasn't surprised when she pushed him away.

She even put several feet between them, her arms wrapped about her body as she stood there trying to figure out what she needed to do.

"I promised you I would get you your baby back, Trista. I haven't forgotten that promise. We will find her," Jarod told her quietly.

The hopelessness in her dark eyes made Jarod want to cry for her, "I know you will try, but I don't think we will ever find her, Jarod. She's gone," she told him.

Jarod stalked over to where Trista stood and grabbed her shoulders and began shaking her, trying to snap her out of the depression that had gripped her, "Don't Trista. Do not give up on me. Caitlyn needs you; she needs you to fight for her. I'm not about to let the Centre make your daughter another one of its victims. I will rescue her or die in the attempt."

Her breathing came in short little gasps as reality returned to Trista, she did something Jarod would have never expected her to do, she threw herself in his arms and held onto him as if he were her only hope of not drowning in her sorrow, "Oh god, Jarod, I'm sorry. I'm just so scared. What if we never find her? I feel like I am dying inside," she sobbed.

"We will find her," Jarod promised, the conviction in his voice giving hope back to the girl in his arms.

All she could do was nod and try to hold back her tears. She would've stayed in Jarod's sure embrace had she not heard a groan.

Jeremy.

Loud voices pulled him away from the consuming blackness that always seemed to follow him. His head pounded, his throat was dry. All he wanted was a drink of cold water and to disappear into oblivion.

Instead, his mind became more aware of his surroundings; a soft bed, the sound of an air conditioner running and the feel of the cold air blowing against his face. The awareness brought on the realization that he was not alone.

Self-preservation caused him to jump up, his eyes immediately fluttering open and his stance clearly defensive as he stood there in nothing more than pair of loose fitting pajama-like bottoms. He noted quickly that he was in a motel room, not the sterile room that he'd been dragged to in the Centre.

"Who are you?" he demanded, and then stopped when he saw Trista.

He frowned, "Trista?"

She didn't look entirely pleased to see him, which was confusing. Unless … unless somehow she knew, and by the look of betrayal in her eyes, he suspected she did.

She shook her head and her lip curled in disdain, "How could you? You asshole, you let them take my baby," she accused, suddenly flinging herself at him, her hands trying to claw at his face.

Bewildered, Jeremy only subdued her. The man who had been standing by her side pulled her away from him.

Somehow, he quieted her, and then turned back to face Jeremy once again. But by then, Jeremy's mind had begun to work properly and he knew who the man was standing across from him. The entire situation was ludicrous, Jeremy thought, wondering how he could possibly be outside of the Centre's wall and this man before him not be in the Centre's possession.

"I think you already know who I am," Jarod told him.

Jeremy gave him a quick, sullen nod, "What do you want?"

Jarod sized the boy up before him. He was about Jarod's height, though he was thinner than and not as broad as Jarod, it would not do for Jarod to underestimate the boy, and until he knew more about whom his handler had been, he wouldn't put anything past the boy.

"Answers. If I were you, I'd suggest you start talking and quickly. Your daughter's life may be at stake."

Jeremy rolled his eyes, "They would never hurt Caitey. Don't insult my intelligence. We both know my daughter is a valuable commodity and therefore safe," Jeremy turned away to walk out the door, which incidentally he was standing closet to.

Just as he opened the door, a large hand banged the door shut again, Jeremy turned to find Jarod standing there glaring at him.

"Is that how you think of your own child? Property for the Centre to buy and sell? Are you truly that heartless, or just merely naïve?" Jarod asked him disdainfully.

Jeremy glanced over his shoulder to see Trista sitting on the bed, glaring at him, though she remained silent because Jarod had asked her to allow him to handle Jeremy. Clearly she was having trouble not speaking her mind.

"I'm not naïve," Jeremy defended almost petulantly, stepping back away from Jarod's unnerving gaze and presence.

"So in other words, you're a cold, heartless bastard who sold his own daughter to the Centre, for what? A taste of freedom? What was your price, Jeremy?"

"What the hell would you know, Jarod, about what I've been through? You have no idea what my handler is capable of, what he did to me!"

"So you left your defenseless daughter to suffer the same fate you did?" Jarod wanted to beat some sense into Jeremy for what he'd done.

Something akin to horror dawned in Jeremy's dark eyes, "I … I don't know … oh god, what have I done?"

So, Jarod thought, Jeremy did actually care about what happened to Caitlyn. But then the mysterious man's words came back to haunt him.

_…Instead of teaching him to be cold and hard, I showed him the value of being human, taught him instead how to make people see only the good in you, to trust you…Jeremy was trained to get past people's defenses, earn their trust and then find their weaknesses…_

Was he then just trying to throw Jarod and Trista off?

All Jarod could do was wait and see.

The man who had called himself the Ghost walked down the hallways, a satisfied smile playing across his face. He had finally succeeded in capturing Jarod. How sweet it was to finally taste the fruits of his labor.

Though Jeremy still had his uses, his priority would now be Jarod. A mad gleam came into his emerald eyes as he walked, oh what he could do with that man's genius and abilities. He felt as if, finally for the first time in years, the world was his oyster.

Arriving at the room where Jeremy was being sedated, the man typed in the code that released the locks and walked into the empty room. Dread filled him. He hit the alarm and called for a sweeper team to check Jarod's room. Though he suspected he already knew what they would find.

Lyle and Raines would no be pleased at all. How was he going to explain this failure to them?

Broots was working on breaking the code for Miss Parker, who was currently breathing down his neck, her patience at an end.

Nervousness made him clumsy, which only made Miss Parker all that more impatient with him and that in turn made him that much more nervous. How was he supposed to work like this?

Parker's phone rang, she stepped several feet away to answer it with her customary, "What?!"

Jarod's voice over the line didn't surprise Parker in the least, it just added to her already foul mood.

"Good morning Miss Parker," Jarod greeted her cheerfully, though Miss Parker could have sworn not nearly as cheerfully as usual. Wonder-boy must be slipping.

"What do you want, Jarod?" she snapped.

A humorless chuckle sounded over her cell phone, "I wanted to be the first to congratulate you. Miss Parker," he said in his usual cryptic-ness.

Parker gritted her teeth, waiting for the usual clues that would send her halfway across the country, chasing nothing except for what Jarod wanted her to chase.

"On what, Frankenstein? The fact that I still haven't dragged your ass back to the Centre?"

Jarod feigned shock, "Never that, Miss Parker. No, I wanted to congratulate you on your newfound nephew. You're an aunt, Miss Parker."

She grabbed for a chair and sat down, "What the hell are you talking about?" she demanded, praying Jarod wasn't serious.

"Why, Lyle's son of course. You mean, you didn't know?"

It couldn't be, "Lord help me if Lyle has truly spawned," Miss Parker genuinely prayed.

"I guess that means that you didn't know Lyle's son had a child of his own, that makes you a Great Aunt," Jarod snorted.

"Cut the crap, Jarod," Miss Parker snapped, "Is this another one of your sick jokes?"

There was no more derisive humor in Jarod's voice as he replied gently, "Dead serious, Miss Parker."

Click.

Parker could only sit there in silence, her cell phone still being gripped in her hand, her eyes staring vacantly off into the shadows around her.

"Broots," she snapped, bringing herself back to reality, "New priority. Find out who Lyle's son is and what happened to him. Now, Broots," she commanded as she stormed from his office.

Had she bothered to look at Broots' face at her last order, she might have cracked a smile, the incredulity on Broots' face was that comical. Instead she was intent upon finding her dearest brother and finding out what he knew about this supposed son of his.

This time a smile did spread itself across her face. This could be fun, taunting Lyle with the fact that not only was he a father, but a grandfather as well. Oh, this could be sweet indeed.

Lyle wasn't hard to find, he was talking to his beautiful Asian assistant, his head bent close to hers.

"Lyle, quit flirting and come here. We need to talk," Parker ordered.

Mr. Lyle looked up at his twin and gave her a chilling smile before dismissing his assistant and sauntering over to where she stood waiting for her.

"Yes, sister dear?" he inquired.

"I just got a call from wonder-boy and he had the most interesting news to share."

One of Lyle's eyebrows raised, "Oh?"

Parker nodded, "He wanted me to pass his congratulations on to you," she said oh-so-sweetly, relishing the suspense she was putting her brother through.

Lyle's eyes narrowed, "Did he tell you why?"

Again, she nodded, "He wanted to congratulate you on your son, of course and the birth of your granddaughter," Parker tried very hard not to laugh in Lyle's face, it was just too hard not to when he looked so downright shocked.

Lyle only glared at her, "I don't have any children, sister dear, Jarod was messing with your mind."

Parker got herself under control, wiping the tears from the corners of her eyes, "Whatever you say, Grandpa," Parker burst out laughing again and walked away.

His rage simmering just beneath the surface, Lyle walked over to a wall and hit it with a resounding bang that echoed in the halls.

"Sun Lei," Lyle bellowed, his assistant scurried out of hiding.

"Come with me," he snapped, walking off into his office.


	6. Chapter Six The Plot Thickens

Note: Thank you to everyone who has patiently awaited this chapter. I know I promised it beginning of last week, but some of you know why it was so late. I just wanted to dedicate this chapter to Maestra and Mickey for all your support and brainstorming with me. I also want to dedicate this one to k.g., you're the best kiddo, hope you know that.

The characters don't belong to me, but I like to play with them like I used to play with my dolls. Mwahahah! *twink* Enjoy!

Chapter Six

With tears in his dark eyes, Jeremy looked back and forth between Trista and Jarod, as if in a panic. Jeremy honestly didn't know what to do, he was scared. This was not something he was prepared for.

"I-I…" he stammered, knowing both pairs of eyes were watching him as intently as the Centre ever had, waiting for answers to their questions. Answers he wasn't certain he could give.

He felt out of his element here, unsure of himself. He had always had a purpose, something he had to accomplish, be it the end results of a simulation or some mission he had been ordered to fulfill. Now he felt lost and all alone.

"Where would they have taken Caitlyn, Jeremy?" Jarod tried again.

Trista waited, praying silently for Jeremy to acquiesce and tell them where her daughter was. He was their last hope for finding her daughter. Everything else Jarod had tried, had failed. Trying to crack the code he'd downloaded from the Centre's computer was impossible. He would have to break back into the Centre and access the computer it had originated from. A fact he'd finally discovered this afternoon.

He'd even put in a call to one of his other Centre contacts earlier in the day, knowing they'd search just as frantically after the trail of breadcrumbs left by Jeremy's mysterious handler.

Darkness was falling rapidly now, Jeremy had stalled for time for the last twelve hours and Trista's nerves were frayed. How much longer could she sit here and do nothing while Jarod tried his best to crack the man? Even Jarod's patience was running to an end.

She waited again as Jarod asked Jeremy three more times where her daughter was, each time, Jeremy would choke up as if he wanted to say something and just couldn't. She'd had enough. This wasn't getting them anywhere.

Jumping up, she went over to kneel before him; he was sitting on the bed he'd woken up in hours ago. She looked up at him, her eyes beseeching. He was her last hope; she didn't know what else to do.

"Jeremy, please," she whispered, her voice already cracking under her strain, "I don't know what they did to you in that awful place, but I can see it was horrible. Don't let our daughter suffer that way, Jeremy. Please tell me where she is, please Jeremy.

Looking away before she began outright pleading and bargaining with the silent man before her, she bit her lip and tried to control her volatile emotions. Was he made of stone? Why wouldn't he just tell them?!

She looked up at the father of her child again, seeing nothing in his eyes. Jarod had said to be patient, but she couldn't sit here any longer, not while some maniac had her child and was doing God only knew what to her precious baby. Her anger at everything began to rise. At herself for her inability to protect her daughter, at Jeremy for being such a pigheaded, stubborn male, at the Centre who had wrecked so many lives and at the situation for even existing in the first place.

Rising slowly, she looked Jeremy dead in the eye and pulled her hand back and slapped him hard. Everything stopped in that instant as Jeremy's face turned to the side with the force of her blow.

"Tell me! Tell me where my daughter is, you son of b-" she felt Jarod's arms go around her and begin to pull her away from Jeremy. She struggled to get away from Jarod, screaming at both of them.

Jarod was exhausted, but he couldn't let Trista's anger undo everything. He dragged her to the other side of the room and calmed her down by just holding her as he always did and letting her give vent to her frustrated feelings. She ended up crying again and he knew he had to get Jeremy out of there. He scooped her up and laid her on her bed and ordered her to rest.

"Wait," she cried, sitting up in a panic, "Where are you going?"

Jarod had thrown a sweater at Jeremy and told him to put it on. He turned back to Trista and smiled gently for her benefit, "You need to rest, we're going for a ride. We'll be back, don't worry," he assured her.

Trista scrambled off the bed, "You can't leave me here again, Jarod, I'm going to go crazy with worry," she sounded like a child in that moment and Jarod wasn't sure if he could deal with this anymore.

He threw a warning look at Jeremy and stepped closer Trista, looking her in the eye, "Listen, he's scared. He doesn't know what to do and you're not helping the situation by becoming emotional. I know you just want to help, Trista, but he isn't sure who to trust right now. Trust me, alright?"

How many times had he said that to her, she wondered? But he was right, she realized in an instant, she had only made everything worse with her outburst. Her face turned a dull red, "I'm sorry," she murmured.

He caught her eye again, "It'll be alright. He'll tell us soon, I'm certain of it," he whispered.

She nodded and went back to the bed and watched them leave her behind. Again damn it.

Broots had known she would be back to find out if he'd found anything about Lyle's son. Yet, again, he had nothing to give her. There were just _no_ records on such a person.

But instead of Miss Parker's clipped tones, he heard a soft spoken accented voice, and he relaxed somewhat, realizing it was Sydney, not Miss Parker come to torment him with more demands and requests.

"Good evening, Mr. Broots," Sydney greeted pleasantly.

"Hello Syd," Broots looked up from his computer screen.

"Miss Parker told me about Jarod's phone call earlier today. Have you found out anything?"

Broots shook his head, "No, there is just nothing to find. If Mr. Lyle has a son, there are no records of it that I can find."

"That's probably because you're looking in the wrong place," a new voice said from behind Sydney.

Broots blanched as Mr. Lyle came into view, his father close on his heels.

"Good evening, Lyle, Mr. Parker," Sydney nodded to each man in turn, while Broots could only sit there and stare at the two men in shock.

"As much as we hate airing our dirty laundry in public, it has come to our attention that Lyle does indeed have a son," Mr. Parker began.

Sydney crossed his arms and looked thoughtful, "Why was there no knowledge of this person before now?"

Lyle stepped forward to answer that, "Because I had totally forgotten the incident until my sister brought the information to me earlier today. It seems while I was in high school, I made the mistake of getting my girlfriend pregnant. She disappeared a few weeks later and I assumed she had been lying to me and run off with the baby's real father."

"We have only just learned that someone from the Centre kidnapped the girl and killed her once the child was born, then introduced him into our very midst without anyone's knowing who the child belonged to," Mr. Parker continued.

"Do we know this child's identity?" Sydney inquired.

"From what we've been able to gather, his name is Jeremy-"

Broots began coughing, his eyes watering as he gasped for air.

Sydney only shot the tech a warning look before turning back to the Parkers.

Lyle glanced in annoyance at Broots and then continued, "As I was saying, it seems he has escaped from the Centre and no one knows where he is."

"Sounds familiar," Miss Parker inserted, sarcasm dripping from her words as she strolled into the room.

"Ah, Angel!" Mr. Parker greeted his daughter warmly, smiling at her, "You're just in time."

"So, Lyle, how does it feel to find out you're not only a father, but a grandfather, and all in one day, as well?" Miss Parker asked, her voice still oh-so-sweet.

Lyle shot his twin a dark look before answering just as pleasantly, "I am thrilled to know I have a son."

"And your newfound granddaughter?" Miss Parker persisted.

"That has yet to be confirmed," Mr. Lyle shrugged.

If looks could kill, Lyle would have been dead a thousand times over. His attitude about his "supposed" granddaughter grated against her nerves and he knew it. She threw him a disgusted look before turning to her father.

"So what are we planning to do about Jeremy?" she asked.

"Lyle will be heading the search for Jeremy to bring him back into the fold. I want my grandson to have the opportunity to realize the fullness of his heritage. Someday, God willing, he will run the Centre. It would be in Jeremy's best interests to find him and bring him back here so he can begin preparing himself for that eventuality."

Parker sighed, knowing it would be useless to argue with her father, even though she was dying to meet Lyle's son and find out exactly how Lyle was going to treat his little spawning. She merely shrugged as if it didn't matter to her one way or another.

"Why is it we're just now learning about Lyle's son?" Sydney asked, still wondering how such an enormous secret could have been kept for almost a quarter of a century.

Lyle frowned, "It seems one of our colleagues was keeping this information from us," he looked very disturbed by this thought.

It was Syd's turn to frown, "Who might that be?"

Mr. Parker interrupted, "It doesn't matter who it was, he will be dealt with by the Tower, personally." He turned to his daughter, his version of a soft smile lighting his pinched features, "I want you to concentrate on finding Jarod as soon as possible. I have had word that he was in Blue Cove's vicinity as of two days ago, and I doubt he'll be going far. Find him, Angel."

Parker nodded, "Of course, daddy," she opened her mouth to ask him another question, but her father turned and walked out of Broots' office without a backward glance.

"Mr. Broots," Lyle barked, making the tech jump.

"Y-yes, Mr. Lyle," he asked.

"I want you to find my son," he pulled a picture out of his pocket and tossed it on Broots' desk, "This is what he looks like."

Broots nodded, "Right away, Mr. Lyle," glancing down at the photo, seeing the clear resemblance to Lyle and even Miss Parker.

After Lyle had walked away, Parker picked up the photo of the young man and stared at it, wondering once again who had hidden him from her family.

"Broots," she barked, making the computer tech jump at her voice, "While you are searching for the whereabouts of my nephew, see if you can't find out who his handler here was and why they felt the need to hide him away for all these years," she ordered, though her voice was much softer. She looked thoughtful as she gazed into the picture.

Broots opened his mouth, "Uh … Miss Parker, perhaps you should see this," the computer tech intoned, catching her attention.

Parker came to stand behind Broots and watched as the man brought up the memo he'd passed along to Jarod.

"Z?" Miss Parker asked, a frown creasing her brow, "Is that an initial or something?" she wondered.

Broots could only shrug, "I have no clue, Miss Parker."

It was Sydney's turn to explain all to her, "Several days ago, I received a call from Jarod asking me to find out whatever I could on a young man named Jeremy. I had no idea at the time that he was Lyle's son. When we ran the search, this memo was all we could find."

A heated breath hissed through her pinched nostrils and anger flared in her blue eyes, "Why the hell am I just learning about all of this? How did Jarod learn of Jeremy's existence in the first place?" she seethed.

No could answer that, except for maybe Jarod.

Suddenly a memory came back to her, piercing green eyes and a smug, secretive smile playing about bronzed lips.

"Did we ever find out the identity of our mysterious green-eyed man, Broots?" Miss Parker demanded.

Again, Broots shook his head, "No, not yet, Miss Parker."

She wanted to stamp her foot and demand answers from someone in a petulant voice, but Parkers did not do such things. A Parker would demand answers from the only person who could give them.

"Well, get back to work Broots and see what you can dig up. I have some questions for our mystery man," she smiled in a purely predatory fashion, ignoring the look of panic that crossed Sydney's face for an instant.

Jarod gripped the steering wheel in slick palms and wondered how he was going to reach this stone hewn man sitting next to him. Nothing he'd said had cracked even a dent in the man's defenses.

An inspired idea came to him; he smiled his little smile and turned to look over at the brooding figure of Jeremy, hunched over and huddled against the passenger side door as if he could shrink into the shadows.

"Do you remember much about your childhood, Jeremy?" Jarod asked nonchalantly.

Jeremy turned to give Jarod a suspicious look, wondering where this line of questioning would lead. He finally nodded, "A little."

"I don't suppose the Centre allowed you the luxury of knowing anything about the outside world, of experiencing American Pop Culture?"

He received a sullen glare from Jeremy this time, "Not really."

"Did you resent it? Learning about things like ice cream and cookies and pez when you should have been able to take them for granted? By the way," Jarod reached into his leather jacket's pocket and pulled out a pez dispenser and offered it to Jeremy, "They're very good, you should try some."

Jeremy eyes the cartoon head of bugs bunny with something akin to either disgust or suspicion, grabbed the plastic from Jarod's hand and tried to figure out how to make it work. As Jarod watched from the corner of his eye, he saw not Jeremy sitting there, but his brother, as he finally gave up and ripped Bug's head off with his teeth and poured the entire supply of pez into his mouth.

Jarod's obsidian eyes misted over for a moment before he was able to bring his emotions under check. The Centre had taken so many people from him, claimed enough casualties to last him several lifetimes. He wished he could give Jeremy back what the Centre had stolen from everyone. Their faith, their innocence and most of all, their lost childhood.

"Thanks," Jeremy mumbled around crushed sugary pellets, crunching the rest and swallowing. He leaned back against the seat of the car and sighed as if he'd just received a dose of some drug he'd been craving.

"You can't allow them to do to Caitlyn what they did to you, Jeremy. She deserves better than that, especially from you. You're her father, Jeremy, and fathers protect their children. Trista especially doesn't deserve to live a lifetime wondering where her daughter is. Could you live with yourself if you just allowed the Centre to win?"

Silence reigned in the car for a very long time as Jeremy contemplated Jarod's words. He was at war with himself. A lifetime of training, conditioning and protocols weren't easily broken. He swallowed heavily thinking about the brief time he'd been allowed to see his daughter. She had been so perfect, so very beautiful. An innocent cherub who needed protecting from the world's evils

The conflict left a bitter taste in his mouth that not even another mouthful of pez could erase, "There's a beach cottage seven miles down the coastline south of the Centre …" Jeremy began, unsure if he was indeed doing the right thing.

Jarod's heart soared as Jeremy explained to him where Caitlyn most likely would have been taken.

"Let's go get Trista," Jeremy told him, a small light dancing in his eyes.

"Of course, I couldn't leave here without her."

Broots had dissected the files he'd copied and finally figured that the only way to break the code was to go back to the original terminal from which he'd accessed them. So, here he was again, making his way to the office. His skin was beginning to crawl, and he knew this time the stakes were that much higher.

He slipped through the door and seated himself at the terminal, put the disk into the drive and began searching for the key to break the code. It had to be in there somewhere.

After fifteen minutes of fruitless searching, Broots was almost about to give up when he noticed an innocuous little file that he'd overlooked before. He clicked on it and knew he'd found what he'd been looking for.

He accessed the files again and began reading what was written there and paled noticeably, even for a man who hardly ever saw the sunlight for the hours he spent in front of a terminal.

"Oh my God," he breathed.

"I seriously doubt that God can hear you," a pleasantly feminine voice intoned behind him.

Spinning in surprise, Broots saw only the gun, a 9mm, standard Centre issue pointing at his bald and shining pate. Behind the gun, was a beautiful, but deadly serious woman.

"Stand up, Mr. Broots," she ordered her voice no less pleasant.

Shaking visibly, Broots did as she bid him, overcome to the point where he was certain he might just collapse in terror and bawl like a baby.

"I admire someone with the brains to discover my husband's plans, but it is unfortunate that we will never know what else that brain of yours will produce," she told him.

As her words sunk in, Broots began to stammer, but before he could even form one word, she attacked him and Broots' world went dark.


	7. Chapter Seven Answers

The characters don't belong to me, but I like to play with them like I used to play with my dolls. Mwahahah! *twink* Enjoy!

Chapter Seven

Darkness had fallen completely when Trista saw headlights shine through the curtains of the motel room. She sat up and jumped from the bed, eager to know if it was Jarod and Jeremy, come to show her where her daughter was and not a false alarm.

Pulling the curtain aside, Trista glimpsed the car, which had gone silent and could just make out two shadowed figures in the luminous glow of street lamps not far away. A bubble of excitement rose in her. She prayed fervently. She just wanted her daughter back.

The driver's door opened and a tall, darkened shape unfolded itself from the car, and loped to the door. A key was slid into the lock, but Trista could no longer keep herself at bay. She rushed over to the door and threw it open before Jarod could turn the lock.

Her breathing was heavy by now; she looked up into Jarod's face, illuminated by the lighting of the room. He seemed serious, but when she looked into his eyes, she knew something good had happened.

"Get your stuff. Jeremy has finally confided in me," Jarod told her.

Overcome by joy and relief, Trista squealed. She couldn't help herself. This was the best news she'd had in 24 hours. She ran over to where she had packed up all their meager belongings and began to gather them in her arms. Jarod was beside her in an instant, helping her pick up the heaviest of his bags and slinging them over his shoulder with ease she envied.

In less than ten minutes, they were back on the road, Trista sitting in the back seat, next to the car seat they had purchased outside of Memphis two days ago. She looked over at the little seat, and her breath caught in her throat and her chest seemed to tighten in anticipation of what was to come. She could feel the tension, sense the energy in the air. Be it good or bad, something was going to happen tonight.

Broots awoke to a cacophony of sounds; arguing and the plaintive wailing of an infant. At first his fuzzy brain thought that his wife was screaming at him again and Debbie must be somewhere nearby, crying because she hated it when they fought. But no, there was a male voice and that realization finally registered in his muzzy head.

He groaned, beginning to feel the pounding ache in his head. What had happened? The last thing he remembered … was being in that office again. Memories rushed back and a cold sweat broke out on his skin a second before he sat up, all the while glancing around wildly.

He was lying on a bed in a darkened room. It was as stark as the sterile office he'd been in … however long ago it had been. Swinging his feet over the edge of the bed, he stood up very slowly, gingerly feeling his head and finally finding the lump that had risen while he was unconscious. He swayed a bit, but he steadied himself and went for the thin, rectangular ribbon of light that shone like a beacon, telling him that beyond laid not only light, but more answers to the mysteries everyone had been caught up in.

He eased the door open, his hand shaking, the sweat now dripping down his face. Broots was nobody but Miss Parker's fool, and he knew when he was in serious trouble. He stopped as the voices arguing quieted a bit and then the baby's wailing quieted to mere snuffles and whimpers of protest. That was when Broots' heard it.

The melody of the tide crashing against the beach beyond the walls of the house, it surrounded him and filled him with not only a sense of dread, but oddly enough, a warring sense of peace as well. If they were on the beach, the Centre wasn't all that far away now, was it?

He eased the door open a few more inches and was greeted by the site of his attacker bouncing a small bundle of blond hair and wiggling limbs in her lap and Miss Parker's mysterious green-eyed man sitting on the couch, side by side.

"So nice you could join us, Mr. Broots," the man said.

Miss Parker hissed out a curse as she slammed her cell phone shut, wondering again why the hell Broots wasn't answering his phone. It just wasn't like him. He was either at the office, or at home. She couldn't reach him on anything, not even his cell phone which he was never without. She ground her teeth in pure frustration. He was supposed to be looking for not only Jeremy, but her mystery man as well.

She looked around his office and wondered where the hell the little pale-faced porn junkie could have gotten himself off to. Hadn't he said that he had gone into her mystery man's office? Surely if Broots could find the office, then she could too.

She snapped open her cell phone once more and dialed the front desk of the Centre. She asked the man to run a trace on Broots' cell phone. Sure enough, he was still in the Centre. Wonder of wonders, not far from where she was now.

Smiling grimly, Miss Parker walked briskly to the elevators, in the opposite direction of the ones her mother had died in, still feeling that shiver of premonition each time she thought of them and jammed her thumb on the floor she wanted. SL-17.

Hopefully Broots would have found out the answers she'd been wanting. Perhaps even now he was preparing to call her. She ignored another shiver of premonition as she got off the elevator and made her way to the office where Broots would be found. The door was open.

She stopped and pulled her gun from its holster. Out of habit and self-preservation, she readied herself for any possibility, including coming around the corner and face to face with Broots while he wet himself from shock.

Something just was not right.

Her heels clicked against the tile beneath her feet and she silently cursed herself for her own stupid vanity. Bracing herself, she took a deep breath and rounded the corner, her gun pointing at the one and only object in the room, a smashed computer terminal and a stained carpet that told her a desk had once sat there.

That the computer remained told her more than if the entire office had been emptied of its contents. Whoever had done this was telling her or anyone else foolish to have followed in Broots' footsteps; it could only lead to destruction. She rounded the terminal warily, looking for any telltale clues when she spotted it.

His cell phone, laying there like a lost, abandoned toy.

"Damn it," she breathed, not allowing herself to admit she was not only fond of her computer tech, but frightened out of her mind for him as well.

Suddenly, the little thing began to ring and oh-so-slowly, Parker bent over and picked it up. She flipped it open, "Who is this?" she demanded.

"Good evening Miss Parker, there's a beach house about seven miles south of the Centre. Hurry." Click.

She stared down at the handset in annoyance and wondered again, what the hell was going on.

Jarod switched off the lights as per Jeremy's instructions. The element of surprise is never to be taken for granted, and Jarod figured with both him and Jeremy working together to rescue Caitlyn, surely they would succeed.

Jarod turned and looked at a white-faced Trista, who could only stare at the snug looking cottage before them with fear, trepidation and longing. She was in no way prepared to handle this kind of thing and there was no way Jarod was going to let her get involved either. She might get herself or possibly someone else, killed.

"Do not get out of this car. If anyone pulls up, or someone besides Jeremy or myself comes out of that house, you crawl into the front seat and drive away, Trista. Do you hear me? Get the police and get back here as fast as you can. Understand?"

She could only nod, too nervous and frightened to do more. She watched as the two of them got out of the car and stealthily made their way over to the cottage, the lights blaring against the darkness and the cold, pale light of twinkling stars and luminescent moon. They were nothing more than shadows in the night, darkness itself creeping forward to battle against unseen enemies.

In that house lay not only her daughter, but the truth about what was going on. She snapped out of her daze and shook her head, not willing to allow the "men" all the glory in this mad scheme. She wasn't about to sit back and do nothing while her child lay not thirty feet away from her.

Without even thinking about what she was doing, Trista climbed out of the car and closed the door just as softly as she had seen Jarod and Jeremy do. She made her way over to where she had seen them disappear around the side of the house.

"Don't' worry, Caitlyn, mommy's coming," she whispered into the crisp breeze.

He was so dead.

His mouth dropped open and all he could do was stare at the pair sitting on the couch, holding who he assumed would be Lyle's granddaughter. The baby stopped her mewling long enough to regard him with large, dark blue eyes, which oddly enough reminded him of Miss Parker's own sapphire eyes. Suddenly she let out a gurgle and giggled at Broots.

What a charming little baby she was, Broots thought absently. Caitlyn grabbed her toes and gave him a toothless grin before trying to guide mini appendages into her mouth to chew and suck and generally investigate with her tongue.

Unfortunately, Broots' apprehension stifled any nostalgia he might have felt. Slowly, he closed his mouth, finally realizing it was still hanging open and he probably looked the part he usually played, the idiot.

The woman holding Caitlyn smiled prettily for him, Broots finally noted the laugh lines around her eyes, the silver strands that ran through her blonde hair, yet there was also an ageless quality that had fooled Broots into thinking she was much younger than she was.

"Please, sit down Mr. Broots, our other guests should be arriving shortly," she invited, her voice deceptively polite and sweet.

Automatically, Broots obeyed without a second thought. There was a chair to his left, a straight backed wooden chair, with scrollwork along the back and legs, stained in cherry mahogany.

"Wh-who else are you expecting?" he managed to ask with some trepidation.

A secretive smiled played about both the man and woman's faces as they glanced at each other, talking with only their eyes and facial expressions.

"You'll find out soon enough," was the blonde's vague reply.

Was it a figment of his over-active imagination or did he hear a clock somewhere, ticking by the minutes? Tick, tock, tick, tock … strange.

The door burst open suddenly, a door that was located to Broots' right, Jarod stood there, gun ready, a skin tight black t-shirt tucked into his black denims that hugged the rest of his body in all the right places. His biceps bulged as he pointed the gun at the man and woman.

"Give me the baby."

The door from which Broots' had stumbled from only minutes prior, then burst open and Lyle's son stood there, though he was unarmed, his stance told Broots' he was nonetheless deadly.

"So, you've brought the prey to us, not once but twice, Jeremy. I am very proud of you," the man smiled broadly at both Jarod and Jeremy.

A small frown marred Jarod's face as he glanced between both the green-eyed stranger he'd seen from only a distance in the vents-- but recognized the smooth, even toned voice—and Jeremy, suspicion lighting his dark, coffee eyes.

He stalked away from the door, moving closer to Jeremy, a move that no one missed the significance of. If Jeremy made any move that would betray him, Jarod was that much closer to do something about it. His eyes never left the man's face, but his entire body was wound tightly, tensed and ready to spring into action.

"Give me the child," he demanded once again.

Broots sat there, stunned. It was not often he was in Jarod's presence and he could only stare in awe at the man he so admired not only in genius but in everything else as well. Jarod seemed to have everything Broots ever wanted. Except for his tormented life.

Movement in the doorway of the house distracted Jarod, as Trista came into view from the darkness beyond. In that moment, when Jarod turned to gape at Trista, Jeremy pulled a small derringer from underneath his borrowed sweater, tucked into the waistband of his pants and pointed it directly at Jarod's head.

"Trista-" Jarod stopped when he heard the gun behind him being cocked.

"Drop your gun, Jarod," Jeremy whispered, his face set in hardened lines, his hands shook ever so slightly, as if he fought with himself over what he was doing.

"You son of a bitch!" Trista accused, her own face blanched white, realizing she'd been betrayed by this man twice.

"Trista, move into the light and away from the door, hands up where I can see them," Jeremy barked out, his voice different from the tormented whisper in which he'd commanded Jarod.

Jarod turned slowly as Trista stepped into the house. He bent and lowered the gun, dropping it on the carpet and then straightening just as slowly, his palms pointing outward. His own eyes burned with anger and betrayal.

"Now kick it over to me," Jeremy ordered, his voice strangled.

Jarod complied.

"What the hell is going on here?" Trista asked, her voice trembling with uncertainty as she looked longingly at her daughter and then warily at Jeremy.

"That's just what I want to know!" a new voice inserted, everyone turned to find Miss Parker standing, her legs spread wide, gun pointing at Jeremy.

The green eyed man took this opportunity to stand and smiled at the motley group before him, "Well, everyone is here," he announced.

Miss Parker turned her lethal glare on the man and curled her lip in disdain, "Now that you've gotten everyone's attention, would you mind telling me what the hell we're all doing here?" she asked ever so sweetly, venom dripping from her words.

"Gladly, Miss Parker. I am Mr. Z, this is my wife and associate, Eleanor," he made introductions as if he were nothing more than the host at a party.

Broots could only sit there in shock as events unfolded around him.

Mr. Z smiled coldly, "Project Ghost has finally come to fruition, though not in the way I'd originally planned. I've had to make a few allowances for blunders such as Mr. Broots here finding the answers I'd carefully hidden away before I was ready for them to be revealed," he stared down at everyone from his opposing height of 6 foot 5 inches, his blazing green eyes seemed to almost glow in his dark features.

Caitlyn began squirming once again, having lost interest in the strange goings on around her and let out a loud yell. Trista stepped forward to grab her daughter, but Jeremy reached out a grabbed her arm roughly, "Stay away from her," he threatened.

Jarod stepped closer and pried Jeremy's fingers from Trista's arm, who had opened her mouth to give Jeremy an acid retort, but a warning look from Jarod stopped her. She cast another longing look at her crying daughter and bit her lip, trying to keep at bay the tears she wanted to shed at being so very close, but so very far from her child.

Mr. Z sneered down at the infant, his distaste plain to see, before continuing, "Miss Parker, you've been called in because I wanted you to see for yourself how successful my plan has been," Z told her, triumph lighting his emerald eyes.

"Arrogant bastard," Parker retorted.

That only made Z chuckle, before turning to Jarod, "You are coming back to the Centre with me, Jarod. This time, there will be no escape, that I can promise you," Z told him.

Trista felt a shudder run through Jarod's body. She couldn't let this happen. They were going to take Jarod, her daughter and then Jeremy away. As little as she did know of what was going on, she knew that Jarod would die if he was returned to the Centre, her daughter would grow up in a sterile environment, unloved and used by these calculating people.

A bark of laughter distracted everyone, Miss Parker wiped a mock tear from her eye, "Do you honestly think it will be that simple? I've been chasing wonder-boy here for years and this is the closest I've ever gotten to him. You're fooling yourself to think that he doesn't have some way to escape from this place," she told him, though her gun was still trained on Jeremy, she had been just as aware of everyone else as Jarod had been moments before her arrival.

A dark brow rose in mockery of Miss Parker, "Au contraire, Miss Parker, I have the one thing guaranteed to subdue Jarod. An innocent babe. As long as I hold this card, he will never do anything that could harm this child."

Even Miss Parker was taken back by the veiled threat in those words, the unfeeling way he had tossed that out to her as if the child meant nothing more than a piece of garbage.

"You're a sick bastard," she told him.

Trista's lip trembled. She took one last look at her daughter and then looked up at Jarod before whispering so only he could hear her, "Take care of her for me."

With an inhuman cry, Trista launched herself at Mr. Z, hand arched like claws, her body hurtling towards him with speed that surprised everyone. She rammed into the man, knocking him to the ground and attacked him like any other mother would while defending her young from a predator.

Everyone remained helpless for a split second, until Mr. Z pushed the girl from him, jumped to his feet and pulled a gun from the holster hidden under the folds of his coat. He aimed it at Trista, then cocked the gun.

Jarod lunged for the child, knowing that even as he did so, Trista would die and leave her child without a mother. A fury so great enveloped him as he whirled past Miss Parker and grabbed Caitlyn in his arms. A loud crack rang in his ears and he turned to see a body draped protectively over Trista's, and the look of horror dawning in Z's eyes.

Jeremy had saved her.

Parker sprang into action, as time seemed to speed back to normal. She stalked forward and pressed her gun against Mr. Z's back and barked at Broots to give her something to restrain the man with.

Nodding, Broots jumped up, still gaping at the entwined figures of Trista and Jeremy.

"Jeremy?" Trista whimpered as she pushed his dead weight off of her. She sat up and brushed a stray lock from his forehead. He was breathing still, but he looked so deathly pale that all she knew in that moment was that Jeremy had dove from where he stood to save her from the madman who'd raised him.

A ghost of a smile played about Jeremy's face as he looked up at Trista, "I'm sorry, Trista," he murmured, "I never wanted to hurt you or Caitlyn."

Jarod stood there, still motionless as Caitlyn squirmed in his arms, having seen her mother and wanting to nuzzle against that familiar warmth, scent and heartbeat. He whispered soothing words to the child, trying to calm her, then he went over to where the pair lay and handed Trista her daughter.

Trista burst into sobs as she pulled her daughter's familiar weight against her body. She breathed in her sweet baby smell and rubbed the soft, downy hair with her finger tips.

Jarod examined Jeremy's wound. It was in his left shoulder, the bleeding was profuse and Jarod knew that if he didn't get Jeremy some kind of medical attention, he would likely bleed out.

Broots scrambled from the bedroom just then, two pairs of handcuffs in his hands. He could only shrug and hand them to Miss Parker, who in turn cuffed Mr. Z. Before she could restrain Eleanor, Jarod looked up at her, his eyes big and pleading.

"Help me, Parker. I need to get him out of here."

Growling, Miss Parker closed her eyes for a moment before nodding and kneeling next to him and putting her hand against Jeremy's wound to staunch the bleeding.

"Broots!" she snapped over her shoulder, "Grab a gun will you and make yourself useful!"

"Y-yes, Miss Parker," he stammered before grabbing Jarod's fallen gun.

Together, Miss Parker and Jarod manage to pick up Jeremy who was beginning to shift in and out of consciousness, and drag him out the door, Trista following closely behind.

"Broots keep an eye on Eleanor and Mr. Z and be sure to get a cleaner team out here to fix this little mess," she ordered as Jarod helped Jeremy into the backseat while Trista buckled Caitlyn into the car seat.

Trista stayed in the back with Jeremy while Miss Parker unthinkingly climbed in the front seat with Jarod. She glanced over at the man she'd been chasing, wondering when in all this mess, had she suddenly become his ally? Shrugging off the notion, she knew there would be a moment soon when she'd catch wonder-breath off his guard and that would be when she'd spring on him and drag his happy little ass back to the Centre.

A feline smile spread itself across her lips, because then she would be free.


	8. Achpter Eight The End Or is it?

The characters don't belong to me, but I like to play with them like I used to play with my dolls. Mwahahah! *twink* Enjoy!

Chapter Eight

Jarod felt as if perhaps he was being offered a second chance. He hadn't been able to save his brother, he wasn't allowed to save Jillian, but there was nothing on this earth that would keep him from doing his damnedest to save Jeremy. He knew exactly where Blue Cove's closest hospital lay and he also knew that the Centre would be after him soon, not to mention that Miss Parker's smiles only boded ill for him and at the moment she was smiling as if she were the cat who had been given a bowl of cream.

With a screech of his tires, he pulled into the parking lot of the hospital almost fifteen minutes later and drove into the covered entrance of the emergency room. He called for a gurney and some orderlies to help him and set about trying to get Jeremy the medical attention he needed.

Trista got Caitlyn out of the car and looked determined not to allow Jeremy from her sight. Jeremy gripped Jarod's hand in his own, his darkened eyes beseeching Jarod to forgive him for his momentary betrayal.

Just as the orderlies were about to take Jeremy into the hospital, several black sedans pulled into the parking lot and Jarod muttered a curse under his breath.

Miss Parker stalked over to where Jeremy still gripped Jarod's hand, "It's time to come home, Jarod," she told him softly, but no less serious than she had been a hundred times before.

"Miss Parker," Jeremy whispered.

Parker leaned over to hear Jeremy better, but something so very unexpected happened that all Parker could do was simply stare.

Jeremy pick pocketed the handcuffs she had gotten from Broots and latched them first onto her wrist and then onto Jarod's.

He gave the pair a chagrined smile, "The voices I sometimes hear told me to do it. Just as they told me what Mr. Z was going to do to Trista, just as I knew that I could trust you truly Jarod."

"Parker!" Lyle's voice shouted from a closer distance than Jarod would have liked. Without a second thought, Jarod dragged a struggling Miss Parker back to the car, shoved her in on the driver's side and took off before Lyle could reach them, all the while Parker's cursing could be heard until they pulled out of sight.

"After them!" Lyle screamed to the dumbfounded sweepers. The sweepers ran back to their cars and took off after their prey, but just before Lyle got back into his own car, he stared into the ER intently. Shaking his head, he got in his car and drove away into the darkness.

Trista turned from the glass door and walked over to where the nurse was triaging Jeremy. She smiled at him, her daughter cooing happily on her hip, then nodded, "You're free, Jeremy. We're all of us free."

The End

What will happen to Jarod and Miss Parker? Find out in "Enemy Mine"


End file.
